Foster Father of the Heart
by Larrkin
Summary: A story about Boromir and Faramir that could very well be subtitled: "Wherein Our Angsty Sons of Gondor Act Out and Come Smack Dab Up Against Their Devoted Mentor, Damrod." WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS M/M SPANKING. Don't like, don't read. Thank you.
1. Chapter 1

_This story belongs to my precious Kat, a birthday present for a dear friend, who also beta'd her own pressie._

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. This story is not meant to violate the rights held by New Line, Tolkien Enterprises, nor any other licensee, nor is any disrespect intended. I don't own Tolkien's original characters, however, my OC's, Gwinthorian, Garrick, Devon and several other Rangers are exclusively my own._

_For new readers: This story takes place several weeks after the Final Battle and several weeks before Aragorn's coronation - and, in my AU, Boromir lives!_

**Foster Father of The Heart - part I**

by Larrkin

"I do understand," I said.

"No. You don't. You can't."

"Indeed I can, little urchin."

Faramir winced and darted a look around at the bustling workers passing to and fro, all of them paying us no mind whatsoever whilst busying themselves amidst the ruins of Osgiliath. None were near enough to hear us, but my brother still growled, "Not that name, Boromir! Please."

I grinned. "You don't like me calling you little urchin?"

"Yes," he replied, almost shyly, "I-I do – "

"Well, then."

"Just. Not. Here."

"Very well, but – "

"And you don't understand."

I sighed. "You seem to forget, little boy, that I also suffered a near-death wounding and spent weeks healing in Lothlorien, so I do understand what it feels like to know you can do more than you're being permitted to do, but no one is listening to you or ready to believe you. I certainly understand your frustration, but there is naught to be done about it, and I am sorry for that."

Faramir calmed at my words, his features dropping into a quiet sulk, but I stayed in battle stance. He was regrouping. He'd come back in a moment and argue circles 'round me until I eventually lost my temper, and although reducing me to a sputter wouldn't be quite the triumph Faramir was hoping for, he would at least feel he'd won some small victory. With my clever little brother it was always best to avoid verbal sparring and I knew I should do just that. Because this was one battle Faramir wasn't going to win. I refused to give in to him.

However it could do no harm to let him be thoroughly difficult. It would get him nowhere, but it might help ease his resentment, so I continued on, opening the next skirmish by introducing a little balance:

"Aragorn and the Warden have allowed you far more freedom than Lerin gave me in Lothlorien. Aye, you have some limitations to observe, but you are hardly useless. You've been released from the Houses of Healing to help direct this crucial rebuilding of Osgiliath, little brother, and that's an important task. Aragorn made it clear how much he needs you to be involved in this project. You. He needs you here, Faramir, not following him off to Henneth Annûn on a mere reconnaissance mission."

"A '_mere reconnaissance mission?'_" He shot me a feral look. "There's quite a bit more to Aragorn's purpose than just that!"

Well, that had been the wrong thing for me to say.

"Reconnaissance mission indeed! Aragorn is going to Henneth Annun to reunite his Northern Rangers with my Ithilien Rangers. MY men, Boromir!"

"I know."

"Two branches of Dúnedain will be meeting for the first time in hundreds of years. That's more than a mere reconnaissance mission!"

"I know."

"I wanted to be there."

"I know."

"And I can ride that far!"

"No. You can't."

"I can!"

"No, Faramir. You cannot. Aye, you can ride, but you are permitted to go no faster than the pace at which we rode here this morning, a gentle trot. You know that Aragorn plans a swift trip there and back again and you heard what he and the Warden said. That kind of vigorous riding would jostle your body too roughly and for too long. Such jarring could tear something open within you. Your wounds are too freshly knit. They're fragile."

"Fragile?" He looked horrified.

Definitely another wrong thing for me to say.

"Fragile!" he spat, glowering at me.

"You would most likely re-injure yourself."

"'_Most likely,'_ Boromir?" He fumed. "_Most likely_ is not the same as positively! _Most likely_ leaves room for doubt."

Typical Faramir ploy. Twist my words around.

"Have it your way, then, little brother. You would positively re-injure yourself."

"You can't be positively certain of that."

"Faramir."

"There's no way even Aragorn could be positively certain of that."

I summoned patience. "Perhaps not, but he did know that they'll be traveling through areas of Ithilien where there have been reports of renegade fugitives – " Faramir scoffed, and suddenly I grew tired of this. "You are by no means ready to engage in any battle save a verbal one, Faramir, and I see no point in discussing this further as you are, I assure you, going nowhere. And there's an end to it."

He scowled at me as though longing to erupt anew, then he huffed and began to pace a short, furious path back and forth, back and forth, muttering, "Wretched Warden! Wretched man! Wretched, wretched man!"

"It was Aragorn's ruling, too."

"Wretched Ara – "

"Faramir! That is enough."

He gazed off, grumbling to himself in _elvish._ Nasty-sounding elvish, too. Would that I could remember some of it to repeat to Legolas and ask its meaning.

I sighed. I truly did understand him. Faramir was delighted when Aragorn and the Warden had released him from the Houses of Healing, delighted with the trust Aragorn showed in him by placing him in command of rebuilding Osgiliath. But he was feeling so much better that he was certain he could do everything, resenting his restrictions. Difficulties arose at once.

"_But I can climb scaffolding, my lord Aragorn!"_

_"Nay, Faramir. You cannot."_

_"Well, then, at the very least I can --"_

_"Nay, Faramir. You cannot and you will not."_

As he had ever been, Faramir was dangerously overeager to prove himself. He couldn't help being exactly who our father had molded him to be – a young man desperate for approval. He had tried and failed to please Denethor while our father lived and now Faramir was struggling to please a dead man's relentless voice still haunting him, urging him to do whatever might satisfy a cruel inner entity that was never going to be satisfied.

Somewhere within his heart Faramir understood this. During a ferocious spanking I'd given him not long ago that left his backside sore for days, I'd talked these things over with him and at the end of that wrenching journey my brother realized that he had not been responsible for Denethor's bitterness towards him.

Faramir had made a good beginning, but his behaviors had formed over many long years and those old habits were hard to break. It would take him some time to free himself from Denethor's echoing malice – if indeed he ever could – and therein lay our problem. During Faramir's first two days here in Osgiliath, Damrod, whose word was ever law concerning my brother, had been forced to remind him over and over that his was a supervisory role alone and that he was by no means permitted to share in any of the heavy labor.

But, ahhh, my little urchin. He seemed unable to help himself, unable to keep from ignoring his restrictions. Damrod's forbearance was wearing perilously thin.

"_Faramir,"_ I had told him just yesterday, "'_tis never a good idea to let Damrod's forbearance wear perilously thin."_

_"Then I suggest you avoid doing so, Boromir,"_ he replied with a sweet smile.

There was just no reasoning with him. No one knew his state of health better than he did and no one saw matters as clearly as he did and as long as no one would listen to him, he would return the courtesy in kind. His actions spoke those sentiments of his louder than he had verbally dared.

And now, finally, temporary madness had set in. My brother had apparently convinced himself that nobody would find out about his misdeeds, not me, not Aragorn, not Legolas, and not Damrod. Considering the fact that Faramir's deeply underlying purpose was, as it ever was, to seek attention, I could think of no better proof of his unsound state of mind.

"_Ahh, my fledgling,"_ Aragorn had said with his warm smile, "_he is just like you."_

_"Aye,"_ Legolas had said, chuckling. "_He insists upon learning things the hard way."_

I'd grimaced at the time, but of course they were right. Yesterday when Faramir had once again climbed high up on some scaffolding to help move some rubble Damrod had caught him in the act, carefully dragged my brother down, then threatened him with the kind of over-the-knee consequences at which our big lieutenant excelled.

"_And he threatened to do it here, Boromir! Right here in Osgiliath! In the, in the . . . open!"_ Faramir had sputtered last evening. Unfortunately, Aragorn, Legolas and Damrod himself had been approaching and overheard him.

"_Would that he had done so,"_ Aragorn remarked, fixing Faramir with a stern look.

"_And that he would have waited until we could stand witness,"_ Legolas said.

Faramir lifted his chin and gazed past them all, sulking like an arrogant juvenile. Given his thoroughly bad attitude I vow he had been simply begging for a spanking from any one of us.

"_I remind you yet again, sir,"_ Aragorn went on, "_should you overtax yourself you shall end up back in the Houses of Healing, confined to your bed, and, judging by Damrod's frown, lying on your stomach."_

My brother's glance flew to our lieutenant who stood, tall and silent, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his narrow-eyed stare pinning Faramir in place.

"_I have known this man since before you were born,"_ Aragorn went on. "_So be wise, little Ranger, and behave yourself. Damrod is ever vigilant."_

One fact neither my little brother nor myself ever needed reminded of.

Looking as though he hadn't a friend in the world, Faramir cast a glance of wounded betrayal around at the four of us as though we were all in league against him. Ah, that sad-eyed gaze of his! When he aimed it at me it was hard to keep from feeling like the meanest orc in orcdom. We were holding him back and getting in his way and disrespecting his opinion and not listening to him or trusting him and oh, how well I understood!

During my stay in Lothlorien's healing chambers, I was also certain I knew better than my elvish healers. When I decided to prove them all wrong by attempting to escape for a short ride, Lerin, Lothlorien's elvish version of the Wretched Warden, explained to me with humiliating ease and in a far too thorough hands-on manner that my behavior was unacceptable. Exceedingly large and packed with that staggering elvish strength, Lerin had been most convincing.

_When it came to my well being, his opinion was the only one that mattered and he would decide my level of fitness and he would tolerate no further insubordination. Was that fully understood, little warrior?_

Oh, indeed it was, sir. Fully. In fact, I couldn't recall how I had dared to think otherwise. And when Lerin was finished heating my backside and I lay limp and trembling and weeping over his lap, he gathered me up and politely asked if his little warrior had any further desires to steal a horse and attempt a ride when he had been forbidden to leave his chamber. Noooo, moreover, just the thought of mounting a horse sent his little warrior into a fresh torrent of tears. To this day the memory was all too vivid. Wretched elf.

I now feared that Faramir was charging headlong toward a similar lesson, and I felt certain Damrod would be the one to deliver it. When my brother took up his post in Osgiliath our lieutenant had become Faramir's shadow, all but outwardly laying claim to his care. Of course, it had ever been thus.

"_Aye, and 'tis for the best now as well,"_ Aragorn had said last night when I mentioned this, "_considering what happened when Damrod last tried to discipline Faramir."_

And although it wasn't something I liked to recall, the memory of what Aragorn had told me about Faramir and Damrod just days after I had been reunited with my brother surged forth again, flooding me with the same sorrow I'd felt when learning of it. Faramir, near-mad with grief over my presumed death, had started to behave in an alarming manner, taking such dangerous chances that it seemed he no longer cared to live. And when Damrod had tried to reach him, tried to discipline him, as he had been all Faramir's life, my brother in his shattered state of anguish did the unthinkable. After they fought and Faramir naturally lost, he lay passively over Damrod's knee, allowing himself to be spanked and spanked and spanked and showing no response until Damrod, fearing for Faramir's safety, was forced to stop and let him up.

To his way of thinking my little brother could not have wounded our beloved lieutenant more. To his way of thinking he betrayed Damrod's love and devotion, ripping asunder their mutual trust and destroying the precious bond they had shared since his childhood. He had hurt Damrod in a selfish attempt to make his own pain worse, to injure himself and to invite a crippling burden of guilt – which, of course, he had received.

And when the worst of Faramir's grief eased and his sanity returned, bitter though it was, his guilt over this sad episode with Damrod prevailed. Their usual father-son link had returned to normal, of course. Valar forbid Damrod change his inclinations towards either one of us, sad episodes be hanged. But the injury festered, hidden beneath the surface, unresolved. And there it remained. Damrod had not taken Faramir over his knee since.

So I understood last night when Aragorn said, "'_Tis for the best that Faramir is behaving true to form, trying to prove himself and pushing his boundaries. He and Damrod need to heal this wounding."_

_"You are uniquely qualified to help Faramir, little brother,"_ Legolas had said with a lazy grin. "_You can counsel our gwador laes on the finer points of redefining one's boundaries."_

"_Insolent elf,"_ I muttered with fond irritation, making them both chuckle.

"_I am glad you have decided to stay here with him, my fledgling,"_ Aragorn then said. "_Your presence will help soothe his low-spirits."_

At the moment I wasn't so sure. Faramir looked to be running more foul elvish through his head, creative descriptions, mayhap, of the Wretched Warden who had stranded him here and of everyone else responsible for his plight, including a certain tiresome big brother Steward now following his every move. His scheme to rid himself of Damrod and his watchful eye by sending him to the wharves had fallen with a thud, because instead of simply joining Faramir on his ride here this morning then returning to Minas Tirith, I had decided to remain at his side all day. I felt certain Damrod would have, with all due respect, declined the wharf assignment had I not said, "_I have decided to stay the day, lieutenant. I shall keep my brother company."_ Meaning, of course, _I shall sit watch on the tiresome brat, lieutenant. Be at ease._

Reassured, Damrod had departed, leaving me with one positively livid young Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. Ah! Such poisonous looks from my own blood!

Well, fire away, little brother mine! I was indeed staying close, especially in this crucial time when Faramir, lunatic that he was, could possibly mount up, chase off after Aragorn and his Rangers and possibly catch up to them. A truly mad thing to do, but given Faramir's mood, I could believe he was prepared to be that foolish. He had that defiantly dangerous gleam in his eye that worried me.

Marking when Aragorn left, however, I knew that soon the company would be too far away for Faramir to entertain any hope of reaching them. My brother could read the position of the sun as well as I could, so he was becoming more desperate by the minute, thus his earlier attempts to remind me of my duties in Minas Tirith and now this, "_I can ride that far!"_ argument about his fitness. His temper grew worse at every thwarted turn and I reckoned this had gone on long enough.

I looked levelly at him and said, "Faramir, you are very intelligent, so surely you know that if you try to reach Aragorn and you succeed, your greatest threat will be Aragorn himself." He gazed at me in his vague, disinterested way. I forged on. "The perils of Ithilien might be merely possibilities, but two self-appointed big brothers, two quite furious big brothers, would be waiting at the end of your journey, and I vow you would find that most unpleasant. Think of that moment when you ride up to Legolas and Aragorn. Think of their faces."

It seemed he did. Faramir's eyes widened and I charged through the breech in his crumbling wall of boldness.

"And consider this," I said. "When Aragorn is finished with you, Legolas will be waiting to get his willful baby brother over his knee. Of course he will also want to spank his _gwador laes."_ Faramir blinked and stared at me. "Aye, I think you recall the story I told you about when they did that to me, and believe me, sir, you do not want to suffer it. Imagine an elvish spanking on top of what Aragorn will have already done to that little boy backside."

"Boromir, please!" he groaned, casting another furtive look around.

"Aye, 'tis a grim prospect, youngling." And, to be honest, an unlikely one. Legolas would be burning to do it, but I doubted Aragorn would allow him to spank Faramir as well, not while my brother was yet healing. But Faramir didn't need to know that, so I embellished away: "Imagine mounting your horse to ride onward after two such spankings. Aragorn would demand that, of course. You wouldn't be able to stay encamped there in Ithilien until your bottom felt better. Legolas would pick you up and slap you down atop your saddle, right on that scalded backside."

Now thoroughly scarlet-faced, Faramir went silent for a long moment, his eyes downcast. I left him to further consider the dark vision I'd given him. I was rather proud of myself. My own backside tingled after my words. But then, I had actually lived through the experience.

Finally he peered up with a look of puzzled innocence and said, "If I'm as intelligent as you claim, how can you suggest me capable of such an asinine deed? Do you honestly think I'm unreasonable enough to do that, Boromir? To race off after Aragorn?"

I wasn't fooled. This was one of Faramir's classic ploys, suggesting I was being absurd and unsuitably suspicious. I didn't blink. "Aye."

"Alone? You think I'd ride through the precarious forests of Ithilien alone?"

"Aye."

He gazed at me in quiet dismay. "I am wounded, big brother."

"My point exactly."

"I mean I am offended! Hurt by your insinuations and lack of trust!"

I smirked and 'hmmph-ed,' then I paused and narrowed my eyes. This conversation was taking on a familiar quality.

"Boromir, do you truly believe me to be that witless?"

"Oh, I think you have plenty of wits, Faramir. But this has nothing to do with wits and you know it. 'Tis desire beckoning you on, little brother, and the irresistible need to prove everyone wrong about your fitness. What could be better than that? It might be worth a spanking to show that you were correct all along."

I smiled at his suddenly guilty frown and said, "You see? I do indeed understand, sweetling, and as far as I'm concerned anyone who's willing to accept a blistering spanking in order to get his way and prove his point is not in his right mind."

And I should know, having done so myself many times.

"Such a bratling shouldn't be allowed to roam about freely," I said. "Since I've stopped you from escaping to join Aragorn you're likely to soothe your wounded pride by trying some other mad stunt. So, I know this isn't what you want to hear, little urchin, but you're staying within my sights today. Best you get used to that fact. Between Damrod and I we might just be able to keep you safe from your foolish self."

Faramir gasped a strangled sound and glowered at me like Pippin in a foul mood. Suddenly enraged to be facing a day hemmed in by responsible Stewards and tiresome lieutenants who would put an end to any daringly brilliant plans he might hatch, he cast back to the original cause of this suddenly confining day and blurted out, "How can you think that I intend to go against everyone's orders and somehow follow along?"

Ah. Now I remembered why this all sounded familiar. He'd asked me that very question in the Houses of Healing ere the final march, so I replied now as I had then: "Because it's what I would do."

end part I  
Foster Father of The Heart to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Foster Father of The Heart - part II**  
by Larrkin

He blinked, memory dawning, then, faith what a glare! Poor Faramir. He never had found a workable argument to that answer of mine, though he'd heard me say those words to him more than once. Alas, I had returned to the enemy camp, and all because I understood him too well and loved him so much. What a troublesome big brother I was. Again, I understood. I had two such guardians myself.

Faramir fumed at me for several moments, then he huffed and leaned over his table covered with plans, bracing himself on his fists and his stiff arms, glaring down unseeingly. He was quiet for a long time and I left him to his brooding. I knew he didn't want to be angry with me, but he was; oh, my, he was.

Finally he straightened and growled, "Is there anything else, Master Steward? As you can see I'm a busy man."

"Faramir," I said, my voice suddenly soft, and when he refused to look at me I grabbed him by the upper arm and led his protesting self to a secluded nook of shade behind a broken wall where I gently bullied him back into the corner and stood before him. He yanked his arm loose and cast me a reproachful scowl.

"Faramir," I said again in the same quiet tone, and I took his stiff body in my arms, hugging him, holding him firmly despite his feeble struggles. "It's alright, sweetling," I murmured against his hair. "I know. You and I are used to choosing for ourselves. We are used to command, used to deciding the fate of others. It's hard, isn't it, when others decide our fate for us?"

His limbs remained rigid a moment longer, then he relaxed and I felt him sigh heavily and nod. "I am not your enemy, little brother," I said. "As ever, I seek only to protect you – "

"I don't need protecting."

Muffled, pouty voice against my shoulder. I grinned. He was no longer furious, just unhappily resigned. "Aye, you do. You especially need protecting from yourself. I'm sorry, but there it is."

"Valar protect me from over-protective big brothers."

"Aye, little brother. I do understand."

I drew back to look at him and Faramir raised his sad eyes to me and in those sorrowful depths I saw reflected the same inner battle I'd so recently fought in Lothlorien. I knew there was naught I could do to help him, but seeing my little brother struggle this way brought out a fierce protectiveness in me, a need to make things better for him as I'd always tried to do.

And suddenly I thought of a way . . . . Well, although, was this . . . wise? Hmmmm . . . oh, well . . . yes . . . yes. What could it hurt? Of course. Surely this would be harmless enough. In fact, it was perfect. An interesting little quest with few physical demands and no real danger . . . at least, I think Aragorn had said there was no real danger. I cast back to what Aragorn and Damrod had been saying late last night . . . .

"_I can scarce think why anything would remain in those sewers. Sam said that after leaving Faramir he and Frodo traveled through them as quickly as they could. They even kept up with Gollum. Anything escaping the battle through those channels would have likely kept going all the way through to the forest and freedom. But we shall needs be certain. A detachment should be sent in to explore."_

_"I trust access to the sewers is forbidden then, my lord?"_

_"Aye. Not that any wouldst care to enter in there. But, I agree, Damrod; as there seems to be no real danger I think this matter can wait until --"_

I narrowed my eyes "_. . . as there seems to be no real danger . . . ."_ Well, that certainly didn't sound too ominous. And neither Aragorn nor Damrod had been overly concerned. Had they? Why they'd been absolutely dismissive. Hadn't they?

"Boromir?"

"Mmmm?" I glanced at Faramir's impatient frown, then I grinned and said, "Sorry. I was thinking . . . ." His withering glare made me laugh. "I mean I was just considering a special little . . . ummm . . . a special _task_ you and I might undertake."

He brightened at once. "Task?"

"Aye. You know the old sewers, where you released Frodo and Sam?"

"And that sly creature, yes," he said with disdain. "I hear that until an armed party goes through to make certain nothing foul dwells somewhere within the long span that Aragorn has forbidden anyone access. Not that anyone would choose to wander through there."

"None save you and me, little brother," I said.

"Pardon?"

I leaned closer to him and said in an unduly hushed tone, "I think you and I needs form our own two-man armed party. Why bother sending in an entire detachment to do what just a few skillful warriors like you and I can do? I think Aragorn will be pleased that we took the initiative and saved some valuable warriors a few tedious hours."

Faramir studied me as though considering the state of my sanity, then his eyes lit up with the first gleam of interest I'd seen all morning. I hurried on, heartened by his enthusiasm and more delighted than ever with my daringly brilliant plan. Actually, 'twas neither daring nor brilliant, but it was at least something.

"You and I aren't fool enough to be ambushed or to blunder into a party of renegades – "

" – if indeed anything is lurking there," Faramir added.

"– which I doubt. It, or they, would have made their presence known by now."

"And why would anything linger in those sewers instead of just following them to the end where they could escape clean away as Sam and Frodo did?"

"The way I see it, little brother, if Aragorn truly believed there was something foul in there he would have sent a detachment of warriors in straightaway – "

"– or, if for some reason he chose to wait, he would have at least posted guards lest whatever 'it' was tried to re-enter Osgiliath."

We stared at each other, Faramir looking like a bright-eyed little boy. I vow at any moment he was going to start dancing up and down with excitement. My poor lad. How hopelessly frustrated he must be to become this thrilled over such a feeble excuse for an 'adventure.'

"So what say you, little brother? Care for an . . . adventure?" I said.

His flashed me that winning smile, further softening my heart. "As ever, big brother, I'm your man."

"Then come," I said, heading for our horses. "Get your sword, although we probably won't need to use them. This will likely be a right dull adventure, you know, so don't get your hopes up too hi – "

"'Tis an adventure, just the same, whether my hopes are up or not – wait!" I stopped and turned at his sharp tone. Faramir's smile had melted. "Boromir, what about . . . what about – "

"Damrod," we said in unison.

Oh, but we had been wildly swept away to have forgotten about him! I thought for a moment. "How long will he be down at the wharf?"

"For several hours yet, until noon at the latest."

"But I vow it'll take us longer than that to travel to the end of the sewers and back again, wouldn't you say?"

Faramir nodded. "I think so. And when Damrod finishes at the wharf he'll return here."

"Expecting to find us where he left us."

"Or somewhere nearby."

"And he'll expect us to have left a note as to where we can be found if needed."

"Ohhhhh, yes," Faramir replied with a significant look. "That he will."

Hmm. I stared off. There wasn't that much to consider. We both knew how our devoted lieutenant would react should we disobey Aragorn's orders. Hmm.

"Well," Faramir muttered on a sigh of exasperation. "That's that then."

I glanced at my little brother. He was again staring unseeingly at some point beyond me, that sad-eyed look of his punching a hole in my gut. And all at once I felt hugely exasperated myself!

"What about Damrod, you ask?" I growled. Faramir shot me a startled glance. "When last I checked, little brother, _I_ was Steward of Gondor."

He studied me for a long moment, then slowly raised a most dubious brow. Even when he said nothing my brother said it eloquently. Suddenly feeling less than fully committed I heard myself mutter, "I know."

"You recall what our lieutenant has ever said, Boromir."

I winced. "Aye. '_There is a fundamental state – '_"

"'– _a deeper truth that eternally supplants rank and privilege.'_"

"Aye."

"You know the rest."

"By heart."

"Damrod is right."

"I know. Faramir, truly, I know." And for as long as we could remember, Damrod had been there with us, supplying that fundamental state of love, that deeper truth of devotion that had eternally supplanted all rank and privilege, and my brother and I knew how fortunate we had ever been in him.

Faramir made an odd sound. I turned to him and found that he was gazing off again, but with the strangest expression on his face, a stricken, bewildered look I couldn't quite fathom. Then he gave a small and miserable sigh, and turned away.

Something twisted then exploded within me! Suddenly I wanted to do a little supplanting of my own! Suddenly I wanted to go into those cursed sewers more than anything in Middle Earth! And I didn't care if a whole family of Balrogs was in there puffing their pipes! Rot all of it! I wanted to do what I wanted to do! And just who dared stop me? My heart galloped and thudded. For the sake of mercy! Was I Steward or was I not?

I straightened and said in my finest authoritative manner, "Never mind all that. We're going. Now, little brother, ere Damrod returns."

He turned back with a quizzical gaze. "Never mind all . . . what?"

"Get your sword."

"Boromir! Never mind all what? Never mind Damrod? Never mind Aragorn's orders?"

"Countermanded."

"WHAT?"

"I am the Steward of Gondor, Faramir. I am in charge here. And I hereby officially countermand Aragorn's orders."

My brother's jaw actually dropped.

"Or do you wish to end our little adventure ere we start it?" I said. "If so, that's fine. We shall just go back to what we were doing. We can spend a peaceful day supervising the work. In fact, you're right. That's no doubt for the best."

Faramir went silently thoughtful, then a slow smile crept over his features and his eyes narrowed and he watched me with a look of amused, indulgent comprehension, as though to say that he knew of how hard I was trying to manipulate him and that I was endearingly bad at it, but since he couldn't help appreciating my willingness to resort to such devious measures, he would play along. I never was very good at this sort of thing.

"No!" he hurriedly exclaimed. "No, no, no! I agree! Never mind to all that indeed! Sound reasoning indeed. You are most certainly the Steward of Gondor, my brother. And, I repeat, as ever, sir, I'm your man."

I gave a swift nod. "Good. Then come, Captain Faramir. Gather your cloak and your sword. Gondor needs your aid. And for Valar's sake, little urchin, stop grinning at me like that."

End part II  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Foster Father of The Heart - part III**  
by Larrkin

"When did you see them last?"

"This morning, sir," Calder replied. "They were here, looking at the plans, just before Val and Bram and I joined you at the wharf."

"And no one else saw the Steward or the Captain later than that time?"

Faramir's six Rangers who had stayed behind with us rather than traveling with Aragorn to Ithilien solemnly shook their heads.

"Their horses are here, sir," Hadden said, nodding at the two mounts standing tethered in a shaded area.

"Mmm." I gazed vaguely at the horses for a moment. "Aye . . . so they are still in the city. Strange . . . ."

Something felt wrong. I was missing something, a sign . . . . Perhaps it was the abrupt look to this. Wherever Boromir and Faramir had gone, it felt as though they had gone there in haste, as though the decision to leave had been a sudden one, too sudden to even scribble a note . . . .

My gaze returned to the table before me, skimming over the maps and drawings for rebuilding the city. Once again I began shifting papers around. No, nothing. They had likely been called away to supervise a sudden problem, but it had ever been standard procedure to leave a message stating where they would be in case someone needed to find them, someone like their first lieutenant returning early from the wharf.

I had planned to spend the entire morning there, but matters were in such good order that after an hour I decided to return to this central base of operations. So, no, Boromir and Faramir did not expect me back this early, and any number of people in need of help might have come looking for either brother for any number of reasons. And, no, I did not need them for any particular purpose. But I needed to know where they were.

Was there any real cause for alarm? After all, these were responsible grown men, leaders who were due their adulthood and certainly above the kinds of suspicions better allotted to naughty teenage lads.

But I'd known them from birth, and they were still my boys, and given all they had been though, together and apart, I'd be the greatest of fools to believe them beyond any manner of outlandish behavior, especially when Faramir was in such a volatile state. That lad was primed to go off like one of Gandalf's rockets. And Boromir, much as he loved his little brother, indeed, because he loved him so, was in the perfect position to ignite Faramir's fuse.

I did trust Boromir's judgement, though. Had I felt any misgivings about him I would have quietly left behind a few of these discreet Rangers to watch over my boys and to send me word should they begin to act in a suspicious manner – such as mounting up and galloping off towards Ithilien or vanishing without a word to anyone. Nevertheless it was fortunate that all was going well at the wharf, for I now knew that there might indeed be a reason for this vague but keen uneasiness that had drawn me back here. Faramir's impish voice echoed through my mind:

"_You fret overmuch, Damrod."_

_"You give me cause to."_

_"But, I vow, you are plagued by an inordinate measure of the Dúnedain, sir. This cannot be healthy."_

_"Not healthy for whom? Have I ever been wrong when foreseeing your antics?"_

_"Well . . . uhhhh . . . well, there was that time when . . . well, uhhhhh . . . no."_

_"Indeed."_

One of the men gave a polite cough. I glanced up at the Rangers standing patiently but warily before me. Such troubled expressions. None of them should have had cause for concern. But they were all Dúnedain, they all loved their captain and they all knew him too well.

"Divide up and branch out," I ordered, sharing their growing alarm. "Ask around. Discreetly. Someone must have seen them. Meet back in one quarter hour."

They had turned to obey ere I finished giving my orders and I dropped my gaze back down to the table, hearing Bram rumble, "Valerian. This way." I glanced over. Our youngest recruit was already jogging to catch up to the big warrior's strides. Just reaching Bram's shoulder, Valerian trotted every third step, his long dark locks flying in wild disarray. A familiar sight that, Val shadowing Bram, reminding me of Faramir as a boy bouncing along beside the big brother he adored. Aye, another Faramir, that little one, right down to the endless prattle.

"Do you think there's cause for alarm, sir?" Val was asking his stoic companion. "What could have befallen them in the mere hour we were at the wharf? And how could anything have happened with all these warriors and workers moving around? Do you think someone could have slipped in here and maybe threatened – "

"Valerian," Bram muttered in a low tone the boy plainly understood. He went silent.

To be fair, little Val's chatter had merit. Boromir and Faramir should have been thoroughly safe amidst these busy workers and warriors and ordered chaos. What danger could have threatened them here?

What indeed. The greatest danger threatening my boys was, of course, my boys themselves. My boys . . . .

"_No need to wince, Damrod,"_ Aragorn said the first time I had lapsed in front of him and Legolas and referred to the sons of Denethor as 'my boys.'

"'_Tis understandable,"_ Legolas had said, sharing Aragorn's soft grin. "_And fitting."_

_"You were more father to those lads than Denethor ever was,"_ Aragorn said. "_I saw it at once, when Boromir was four and I was here serving Ecthelion, before Faramir was even born. And when Denethor's envy forced Thorongil to leave Minas Tirith, I was able to ride away from my weeping fledgling only because I knew you remained, and that you would watch over him. And later, when Faramir began to suffer his own anguish at the hands of his father, Boromir told us that you were ever present, ever counterbalancing Denethor's tyranny whilst swallowing your own outrage, which must have been terrible indeed."_

_"You could not challenge the Steward and expect to remain in his service,"_ Legolas went on, "_so you endured what you had to endure, retaliating in the only way left open to you, by offering your boys what comfort you could. Ai! Such strength, to behold a cruelty you were powerless to stop!"_

_"Yet for the sake of his sons you stood silent witness to Denethor's injustices,"_ Aragorn said. "_It must have cost you dear."_

I shook my head, muttering a reply they were both too wise to believe, "_Nay. Not at all."_

_"Aye, sir,"_ Aragorn had said in a soft but insistent tone, "_and because of your sacrifice Boromir and Faramir became the good men they are, men of compassion and integrity and honor. You have ever been a unique father to them, Damrod, a foster father of the heart. So they shall always be your boys. 'Twould surprise me to hear you speak of them in any other manner."_

I had stood there studying the ground and trying to keep from squirming like a green recruit called to answer for mischief after a night spent too deep in my cups.

Aragorn chuckled. "_And the last time I saw your face turn that shade of red you were a junior lieutenant who had just knocked the illustrious Captain Thorongil on his backside during sparring."_

We laughed, Legolas exclaiming, "_The 'illustrious Captain Thorongil'? Oh, I must hear more about this sparring session, Damrod!"_

I had fired Aragorn a wry glance. "_Not much to tell, I fear. He let me win."_ And Aragorn had chuckled again and vehemently denied it.

What a pleasure it was to find myself once more in the company of the warrior whose companionship I had treasured so long ago! Aragorn was a bit older than I was, but being of true Numenorean blood we had aged with moderate grace, and I vow the man I'd known as Thorongil was even more illustrious now. I admired him as much as I had when he was the valiant mercenary captain and I the younger second lieutenant under his command in the days of my boys' grandsire, Ecthelion.

Aragorn and Legolas were devoted to my boys, and we had spent much time discussing the sons of Denethor. They understood the brothers, and I was especially grateful for what they had done for Boromir. The change in him since he left Minas Tirith was astounding. Aragorn and Legolas told me of what happened to Boromir whilst he had been in their company, and of what he had gone through during and after the Quest. He'd become a 'fledgling' again, and Legolas had claimed him as his 'little brother.' Little brother to this Princely elf – how Boromir would have secretly delighted in that!

I had been denied much access to the lad after he had turned a certain age. Denethor had laid claim to his favored eldest son in his young adulthood, and what I had glimpsed of Boromir in those years tore at my heart. So I had listened, transfixed, inwardly blessing these two warriors for the way they had taken Boromir in hand, wrapping him in their devoted care.

And as Aragorn and Legolas told me of the Boromir they experienced, I in turn told them of Faramir, and of what the sons of the Steward had endured in their early lives. Boromir had shared all he could with them, but he was able to see and understand only so much, and indeed there were entire stretches of time he had purposely forgotten, years, in fact, vanished from his memory. But I had observed matters from a close vantagepoint and with the understanding of an adult. And I remembered it all.

Ere he left for Rivendell Boromir's life had been blending of frustration, and loneliness, triumph and joy and tragedy. He understood well the difference between punishment and loving discipline. He disciplined Faramir lovingly, for the lad suffered such hatred from Denethor that he often sought proof of his worth from either Boromir or myself.

But while Boromir could see and answer his little brother's needs, he refused to entertain such needs in himself. He had learned to shut away that desperate hunger within at an early age, when Thorongil had been forced to leave Minas Tirith and Denethor had rejected a grieving Boromir. Thereafter the shattered little boy had become whatever his father required him to become, doing anything to escape the anguish of the man's contempt. Boromir would be perfect, the perfect warrior and the perfect firstborn son of the Steward. And so from his early teens on, Denethor kept close watch over him.

But living within the safe boundaries of Legolas and Aragorn's authoritative affection Boromir had started learning how to allow himself to be flawed. The first time he made an error during the Quest – and, of course, being Boromir, he made a big life-threatening error – he had been lovingly disciplined in the same way he had always disciplined Faramir.

"_How thoroughly astonished my little brother had been when I told him what I intended to do to him,"_ Legolas had told me.

I do vow. But, starved little boy he still was within, Boromir had quickly learned to hunger for that attention from his two constant warriors. During the Quest and afterwards he had gone on to test his boundaries again and again, finding them intact every time, and every time he was disciplined he discovered that the devotion of Aragorn and Legolas remained undiminished. I vow Boromir spent a good deal of time being thoroughly astonished.

But he had learned that it was safe to be mistaken, to be wrong, to make errors in judgement, to be human. He even allowed himself to be disobedient and willful and to deliberately behave in a manner best summed up in one word he had ever loathed – naughty. And each time he chose to behave in such a manner he was swiftly answered with the kind of attention he had always deserved. Like his own little brother, Boromir would ever need that attention, a legacy Denethor left his scarred sons.

During the long hours that Boromir kept Faramir company in the Houses of Healing I was often with Aragorn and Legolas and we shared what we knew of these two complex brothers. I relished hearing their tales of the Quest whilst we journeyed about the two cities, discussing rebuilding ideas and future plans. We also spent time with Aragorn's Rangers at their encampment, the Grey Company making me feel welcome and at ease amongst them.

Sometimes the three of us were joined on our journeys to Osgiliath by Aragorn's first lieutenant, Halbarad, a man with whom I shared an instant kinship, and the exquisite elf Gwinthorian, who was never far from Halbarad's side.

"_Join us today,"_ Aragorn would tell Halbarad, playfully adding, "_I have need of Gwinthorian's sharp eyes and we all know he focuses better when you are there."_ And rather than becoming ruffled by Aragorn's comment, Gwin simply grinned.

I saw at once what Aragorn meant, though, for this little one noticed everything and he remembered all manner of details, repeating them back to perfection. 'Twas unlike anything I had ever seen. He also had excellent suggestions to make when asked, and Aragorn plainly valued Gwinthorian's uncanny judgment.

But it was clear from his behavior that Gwin was plagued by the kinds of torments that haunted my boys, so it was equally clear why he remained in the company of his big Ranger. Halbarad was ever aware of Gwinthorian while not seeming to be so, providing Gwin with a no doubt profound sense of being valued and cared for and worthy of notice. Aye, very soon after we met, Halbarad and I shared an immediate understanding of each other, and Garrick, Aragorn's corporal, also shared this understanding.

"_Oi, Merry! Would you look at that!"_ Pippin had softly cried one early morning when he and Merry, having joined Legolas and Aragorn and me, were breakfasting around the fire at the Grey Company's encampment. We all glanced up at the little one's exclamation. Pippin's fascinated gaze skimmed back and forth over the gathered warriors.

"_Look at what, Pip?"_ Merry had patiently asked.

"_That!"_ Pippin nodded at us. "_Look! Aragorn, Legolas, Damrod, Halbarad and Garrick! All of them together in one place!"_

And though Pippin had been not the least bit specific, everyone sitting at the fire began to grin, knowing exactly what the little one meant. Only a hobbit, well, only a hobbit such as Peregrin Took would be so outlandishly outspoken about such a quietly understood condition.

"_Yes, Pippin,"_ Merry had calmly answered, his gaze fastened to his tin. "_Very interesting. Now eat your – "_

_"But do you understand me, Merry?"_ Pippin pressed, still gazing at us, spellbound. "_I mean, look at the lot of them, five of them, sitting there like a great wall of supreme authority! I mean, do you see?"_

Ere poor Merry, now quite pink in the cheeks, could reply Aragorn said softly, "_I see a young hobbit who needs to quiet down and attend to his first breakfast."_ And Pippin, his wide-eyed gaze flitting over the five of us now staring directly back at him, had plainly seen the wisdom in this.

The little ones did not always join Legolas and Aragorn and me, but sometimes they would accost us on our way to the stables, racing up behind us and trotting along to keep up with our strides – "_Where are you going Aragorn? Can we come with you? Can we? Pleeeeeease?"_

And Aragorn, being naught but a mere mortal, would relent. He and Legolas would scoop up the halflings, plunk them down on their saddles and swing up behind them, Merry and Pippin wiggling down in their seats, wearing identical grins of smug satisfaction. Smug looked adorable on them. Hobbits. Delightful creatures! They, too, were devoted to my boys. I found myself wondering more than once how I had managed thus far without the company of these charming little ones.

One morning when we were in the stables, mounting up, Pippin suddenly announced, "_I want to ride with Damrod!"_

I blinked down at him in astonishment. Everyone broke into wide grins, and Legolas, who had been about to swing the little one onto his mount, halted, his hands full of a dangling hobbit, and turned to look up at me. "_Perhaps Damrod does not wish to share his saddle with your troublesome chatty self, Master Took,"_ Legolas said, winking at me over Pippin's curly head. "_I suggest you practice some courtesy and ask the lieutenant for permission to join him, rather than thrusting yourself upon him whether he would have you or no."_

Pippin had looked properly mortified, and I was taken in by his shy glance of tragedy until I saw a sparkle of pure playfulness there that made me chuckle. Imp.

With as much dignity as he could summon whilst hanging freely from an elf's hands, Pip said in his musical lilting manner, "_Beg pardon, Lieutenant Damrod, sir. I dunno mean to be such a presumptuous clot. But may I please ride with you? Please?"_

Now everyone chuckled. I raised my hands, clapped once, and Legolas, with perfect elvish aim, flung the squealing, laughing little one up and through the air and into my open arms.

"_Ooooo!"_ Pippin cried, all giggles and squirms as I settled him before me, "_Och, Merry! That was grand! You should try it!"_

Safely perched before Aragorn, Merry had responded with a long-suffering sigh and an indulgent snort. "_Pip, you silly ass."_

Nicely pleased with himself, Pippin wriggled about to reach a position of comfort, sorely testing my own.

"_Peregrin, sit still,"_ Aragorn scolded. "_Have a care for the lieutenant's . . . well-being."_

_"Oh!"_ Pippin cried, grabbing for the small sword strapped to his side. "_I'm sorry, Damrod. Am I sticking you with my weapon?"_

This was too much for Aragorn and Legolas. They broke into laughter.

"_Merciful Middle Earth, Pip!"_ Merry cried. "_Don't be daft! That's not what Aragorn means!"_

Pip, whom I was beginning to suspect knew exactly what he was about, shot back, "_Well, Aragorn's always told us to take our swords with us when we go out, haven't you, Aragorn? Drummed it into us, wouldn't you say, Merry?"_

I froze. My memory vanished. And suddenly, everything hit me.

I whirled to where my boys' horses stood, knowing at once what had been pestering me. No swords. And at the same moment I heard a deep voice, "My lord! Lieutenant Damrod!"

I turned to see Bram striding my way, Valerian jogging at his side, Calder, hastening to join them. I glanced down at the scattered maps, my gaze shooting straight to a certain place, the only place my boys might need their swords. And I knew what the approaching men would say.

"Eastern quadrant," Bram said, frowning, Val worrying his bottom lip with his front teeth. "They were seen moving fast toward the far perimeter."

I nodded grimly.

"Aye," Calder said, his face somber. "A worker saw them taking torches and heading in the direction of – " He paused at my forbidding look.

"The sewers."

End part III  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

**Foster Father of The Heart - part 4**  
by Larrkin

"Why don't they crawl out and run away?" I whispered.

"And go where?" my brother whispered back.

"Home?"

"Home," Boromir said, just a touch impatient. "And where is home, little urchin? They're renegades. Deserters. They're hunted now, by both good and evil. My guess is they're afraid to go anywhere, 'home' included."

I scoffed. "Orcs? Afraid?"

"They do display fear. Otherwise they'd never flee the field. There was plenty of fleeing after Pelennor. Pockets of renegades are laying low everywhere."

"I know, I know. Even, alas, in the sewers of Osgiliath."

"Even here. Alas indeed."

"So they've been living off the forest, hunting, then bringing their kills in here to consume. And they've been dwelling in here since the battle."

"And would continue to do so, I vow, until forced to do otherwise."

"Which is why Aragorn was going to send a detachment through, to clean out any such foul creatures."

"Mmm." Boromir nodded.

"Well, they didn't know Aragorn was coming. Were the stupid things planning to spend the rest of their lives here?"

"Are you truly asking me to guess what goes on in their pea-sized brains, little brother? How should I know what the stupid things were planning?"

I hugged my knees to my chest silently for a moment, then muttered, "There's no need to bark at me, Boromir."

"I haven't spoken above a whisper. How can I have barked at you?"

"You did."

"Well, I can think of no better time to bark, Faramir! No one knows that we're here, sitting side by side in the dark, trapped in the sewers by several hundred orcs."

"That's something of an exaggeration wouldn't you say?"

"All right. More like fifty or sixty."

"That's still only a guess. We didn't actually see --"

"Nay. We didn't see them, so we don't know exactly how many are out there. Ere we could count their exact numbers we were quick enough to hide down this side channel. And thank the Valar we were, little brother, for if we'd seen them, they would have seen us."

"But perhaps there are only twenty or so."

He snorted. Softly. "Does it sound like there's only twenty orcs out there?"

"I'm just saying --"

"I know what you're saying, and why you're saying it. But we can make a good guess as to their numbers by what we saw before they came back and by what we can now hear." He cast me a shrewd narrow-eyed look. "You're a clever Ithilien Ranger. You can read the sounds of the air. When you're out in the wild you don't need to see the enemy to estimate how many are hiding up ahead. So, come, Captain Faramir, use those Dúnedain insights. How many orcs would you say have us trapped back here?"

I hated it when Boromir became condescending. I silently scowled off into the darkness.

"Twenty?"

He wasn't going to drop it. I sighed and muttered, "More like fifty or sixty."

"Indeed. And unless I have no other choice and I'm forced to fight, we stay put and wait. That's a few too many for me to handle."

"It's not too many for both of us to handle."

"Aye, it is." He shot me a glare. "And I said no."

"I am fairly handy in a battle, Boromir!"

"Shh!"

"It's been too long since my sword was stained with orc blood!"

"It's going to be longer still."

"I can fight!"

"I know you can, but you're not going to fight. No, Faramir. I say again, unless there's no other option, I won't permit it. No. You're still too – "

"Don't say it! I vow, Boromir, if you tell me one more time how fragile I am I'm going to stand up and charge the lot of them!"

"Shhh! No. You won't."

"We'll see who's too fragile!"

"Faramir! That's enough." He fired me a smoldering frown. "We are not discussing this yet again. We wait. And unless you want to be the next course at that orc banquet out there you will quiet down."

"But – "

"I wouldn't count on them having the courtesy to kill you before they start hacking you up, by the way."

I fumed. "Why did you tell me to bring my sword if you weren't going to let me use it?"

No response.

"To humor me."

No response.

"I should've brought my bow."

"I wouldn't have let you use that either."

I sat quietly steaming for a moment, then snarled, "Do you seriously think they're all going to fall asleep at the same time? Do you suppose one of them will stand up and announce, '_Time for a nap, mates! I smell a coupl'a fool men trapped down the side tunnel who'r waiting for the lot of us to conk out so's they can escape!'_"

Boromir slowly turned to me with a long, fierce stare that shook what little composure I had remaining whilst being trapped by fifty or sixty orcs.

Finally he muttered, "There is no need for that kind of cheek, sir."

I considered asking him what kind of cheek he would prefer, but my brother seemed a mite tense, so all I said was, "Sorry."

"Damrod doesn't wash your mouth out often enough."

"I said sorry."

He studied me for another long moment, then his expression softened and he said, "Look, we have few options open to us, so to my way of thinking our best plan is to wait until they've finished gorging themselves and, I hope, go to sleep so that we can try to steal past them. Or, they might head out again to hunt more. Otherwise . . . ."

"Otherwise we wait until Damrod returns from the wharf, finds us gone, figures out what we've done and comes to rescue us."

Boromir winced. "Aye."

I rested my head back against the wall. "If it's all the same to you, big brother, I'd sooner take my chances with the orcs."

"Fair point, little brother."

We stared soberly at each other, then burst into snuffling smirks.

"Ahhh, of all the ill luck!" Boromir muttered, rubbing his palm over his eyes. "Aragorn will have my head. And Legolas the rest of me."

"Nay, Boromir, not at all. Damrod won't leave them enough of you to bother with."

A sneering frown, then: "Oh, he positively doesn't wash your mouth out enough."

I grinned at him until he grudgingly grinned back, then I nudged him and said, "What happened to '_Never mind all that,'_ and '_I am the Steward of Gondor?'_"

"I suddenly fear Damrod will not be impressed with that argument."

"And Aragorn and Legolas?"

"Faramir, you are not helping a bad situation."

"It's true, though, my brother. You are the Steward of Gondor." He gave me a press-lipped grimace. "You're right. Damrod won't be impressed by that."

"Nay."

"He'll have your head."

"And yours, little brother."

"And mine."

We both chuckled again, despite our peril and despite how ridiculous we felt and despite the fact that we knew that there wasn't a chance we were going to escape this without Damrod's wholehearted comeuppance. Poor Boromir. My poor, poor brother.

"Stop that," he said. I darted him a glance and found him watching me. "Come now, little urchin. Stop looking so guilty. You didn't cause this."

There he went again – picking up some Dúnedain insight. "I did cause it," I said. "I bullied you into this with my sad looks."

He chuckled. "I know. You're a perfect bratling at times. And I am the most beleaguered of big brothers."

"Yes." I hugged my legs closer to my chest and lowered my forehead to my knees. "Yes, you are."

"Faramir." His turn to nudge. "I wanted to do this. If you recall 'twas my idea. This blunder is all mine, so don't try taking the credit for it."

I shot him a look. "I wasn't trying to take the cred – "

"No, you were trying to take the blame, which is worse, for there's no glory tied to it. I knew what you were doing with your sad looks, and, at the risk of crushing your sense of importance, you overestimate your powers of persuasion, sir."

I was tempted to take exception to that. Boromir noticed and flashed me a wide grin.

"I assure you, little urchin, I did what I chose to do. I'll grant you credit for creating a desire in me to do something exciting, but that's all."

I gazed at him, forgetting to be vexed, struck by his perceptiveness. My Dúnedain warrior brother. Denethor would've been thrilled. Calling attention to his insight would embarrass Boromir, though, so I could think of nothing to say. He looked sheepish nonetheless.

"Faith, little brother! Such a stare! Struck dumb by my insight?"

Uncanny. "Yes."

He chuckled silently. "Impressive, am I not? Comes from living with halflings."

I grinned, surprised. "Living with halflings makes one insightful?"

"Aye, because, well, as Aragorn once told me, '_The best way to keep up with a hobbit is to stay ten steps ahead of him and to listen to all that he does not say.'_ Makes a body develop some insight."

I felt a grin of warm admiration spread over my face. He quickly looked away and ran his fingers back through his hair, saying, "Now, were I truly wise I would have taken the time to look through those city plans for a map of the sewers."

"How could you know the main channel branched off in two directions? I'd never gone all the way through to the forest." He looked at me. "When I was fifteen a few friends and I explored in here, but we didn't journey in this far. We became bored and hungry after half an hour and went home."

"I guess Damrod never found out."

"I believe I forgot to mention it to him. And you were off on maneuvers."

Boromir smirked and shook his head at me, then said, "I'm surprised Sam didn't scold you for not telling them which branch to follow."

"I wish he had. But Gollum clearly knew how to get out. Whilst crawling all over Middle Earth hunting the Ring I reckon he somehow found this sewer and crept through it into Osgiliath." Chilling thought. I sighed and thudded my head back against the wall, growling. "Will they never stop eating? Revolting, them devouring those animals raw."

"At least the animals are dead. Ask Merry and Pippin about the time they were carried away by the orcs. Right after Amon Hen. According to Pippin the hungriest orcs wanted to just hack off their legs and . . . ." He paused to glance at me. "No, I won't tell that story now."

"Thank you."

"Try not to listen to them eating."

I lowered my forehead back to my knees. "Oh, thank you again. I hadn't been listening until you mentioned it."

"Aye, you were. You said it was revolting."

"It is!"

"Then settle down, unless you are choosing to join them for second breakfast as a side dish."

"I'd make more than a side dish, Boromir."

He snorted another soft laugh. "Not much more. Hush, little urchin. We needs do nothing now save wait patiently."

I sighed and hushed and patiently tried to wait and not listen.

End part 4  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	5. Chapter 5

**Foster Father of The Heart - part 5**  
by Larrkin

It had all gone so well until Boromir and I reached that Y in the sewers. We didn't even see the Y until we came around a blind bend and there it was, the Y. Well, who could have known that was going to be there? More to the point, who could have known that there would be evidence of orcs having taken up residence in the middle of the Y, none of them, thankfully, there at the moment.

What a mess! Horrid piles of white broken bones, non-human, thankfully, but savaged, licked clean, even the marrow sucked out. Revolting. The blind bend must have somehow mysteriously blocked the foul aroma of this orc nest, because until we rounded the corner we smelled only the naturally dank-ish odor one would expect to find in an old unused sewer.

Had either of us any sense we would have turned tail then and there and hied it back to Osgiliath with all possible speed. But, alas, Boromir was the only one of us whose sense had been somewhat intact this morning and I'd made short work of that for him, grumbling over my sorry state.

We had been following the sewers for what seemed like several hours, but what was more likely about three quarters of one hour, when I began to get an odd feeling. Glancing my way, Boromir had stopped short and locked me in an anxious stare.

"_What?"_ he said. I peered at him in the ragged torchlight. "_What is it? Is it the Sight?"_

_"The Sight?"_

_"You have a feeling, little brother?"_

_"Yes. Boredom."_

He gave me a '_that's not funny'_ look and we headed on.

"_And hunger. I'm feeling hunger. Tell me you brought second breakfast, Boromir."_

That made him laugh, as I'd hoped he would. Best to keep Boromir distracted because I wasn't yet prepared to hazard a guess about this peculiar feeling. I didn't know what it was, but it wasn't comfortable. It wasn't the Sight, but it wasn't good. I supposed I should have told him at once that something was wrong. Boromir might have refused to let me do anything risky or overly strenuous but he respected my insights and he would have listened to my apprehensions.

I was enjoying this too much, though. I loved it in fact, Boromir and I, off on an adventure together like old times! A common adventure it may be, but it was nevertheless splendid because it was ours to share. And of course I wasn't bored! I was striding along beside my big brother, the Steward of Gondor, entirely unashamed of my excitement about that, even at my age. I didn't want this to end just because of my queasy inner tremors. What if I was mistaken? Surely there wasn't anything to fear up ahead.

Yes, I probably was mistaken. I hadn't been myself of late. Being shot full of arrows and nearly dying had likely played havoc with my Dúnedain sensibilities. Ere the final march Legolas had been able to sneak up on me in the Houses of Healing and catch me in the act of contemplating going out the window and escaping up the vine-covered garden wall. I know elves move silently, but I should have sensed his approach.

So I hadn't been inclined to confess my uneasiness and have Boromir call a halt to our common, splendid adventure. If I said something, and we went back, and then Aragorn found nothing when he sent a detachment through, I would have brought our fun to an end for nothing. Even worse, if I told Boromir he would insist we return, and then he would feel bound to tell Damrod and they would needs form a detachment to go through without delay, all of which would lead to questions of how Boromir knew this. And that's when things would have become tricky.

I might be able to convincingly claim that I'd just sensed it, that, no, we hadn't gone anywhere near those sewers – but that I'd simply _felt_ there was something vile within. But one glance at my brother's truthful face and Damrod would drag me off to wash the blatant lie from my mouth. Boromir could try his hardest to look believable, but my brother would simply exude the discomfort of dishonesty. What a handicap to be unable to tell a plausible innocent falsehood! It would likely earn him a mouthful of soap as well for being in league with my fibbing self.

All that raced through my mind seconds after I sensed that vile 'something,' and so I said nothing to Boromir. And now, here we sat, trapped by a foul company of renegade orcs who had made an untimely and shockingly rapid reappearance.

We'd had no warning. The sewer's odd air currents distorted sound as well as smell and we didn't hear the orcs approaching until they were nearly upon us. We'd come around that blind bend, reached the Y and encountered their nest only minutes before. Boromir had become oddly engrossed:

"_They could have left here long ago,"_ he'd said, circling, staying close to the wall, and studying the orcish debris. "_Perhaps these are just their remains."_

I was right behind him, gazing warily around, trying not to gag. "_Yes,"_ I said. "_You know orcs. They never clean up after themselves."_ Boromir paused to glance back at me with another, '_still not funny,'_ look. Fidgety and anxious, I cast him a distracted smile.

When we reached the left branch of the Y, he held his torch up, peering into the darkness. I added my light to his. Nothing down that branch, save another sharp bend.

Then – I felt it – a sudden, thick, menacing quiet . . . .

"_Boromir,"_ I breathed.

He froze, shot me a look, his eyes flew wide . . . .

They were coming! Fast, silent but for the clank of metal weaponry; they were almost upon us! I grabbed for my sword. "_No!"_ Boromir growled. He shoved me ahead of him into the left branch and we tore down the passage, dousing our torches in the dirt and diving 'round the corner seconds before the orcs came thudding and huffing and snarling into their nest. No cry of alarm; they hadn't spotted us.

We stumbled further along in the darkness a little ways then Boromir grabbed my arm and drew me against the wall and we flattened our backs against the surface and slid down next to each other, stunned and silent, both of us breathing heavily, both of us trembling, though not from fear, no, certainly not from that. From shock. From the narrow escape. And I could feel Boromir struggling to hide his panic over the fact that his little brother was now in the direct path of some very grave danger.

No question of trying to find our way down the left branch to a possible opening in the woods. A faint light from the orc torches drifted 'round the bend to where we sat, enough so that we could see each other, but that glow ended just a few feet down the passage where all went to pitch black. How far might we need to blindly grope until we reached the forest? And what other surprises might await us on the way? We didn't even know if this branch did open into the forest. Perhaps only the right one did, the one the orcs had come through. Or maybe the opening had been sealed off for some reason.

So here we sat, trapped. Entirely trapped. And my protective big brother wasn't going to allow me to help fight our way out of this. Which left me feeling useless. Useless and accursedly fragile as he kept calling me. I dearly loved my big brother, but at times he could be woefully big brotherly.

Lifting my head, I peered off into the shadows, recalling what he'd said a few moments ago: "_We need do nothing now save wait patiently."_ I looked over at him. Boromir's eyes were closed. He appeared to be asleep. A sudden, fierce rage slammed into me!

"This is absurd!" I snarled under my breath, pounding my fist on the ground. Boromir flinched and opened his eyes. "Sorry," I said in a sneerful tone. "Did I disturb your patient waiting?"

He blinked, turning to me with faint surprise and the look of a big brother prepared to practice indulgence. "Faramir – "

"Boromir, we're warriors! Captains! Leaders of men! And we're waiting to be rescued! Cowering here in the dark like two frightened halflings! No. Wait. That does a disservice to halflings. They'd show more courage right now than you and I put together!"

Marvelous how one can yell without speaking above a whisper. Boromir remained obnoxiously calm.

"Faramir – "

"Pippin would show more courage!" I fumed on. "So would Merry! So would Frodo! Even recovering as he is wee Frodo would be drawing his sword and fighting his way out!"

"Not if wee Sam had anything to say about it."

I ground my teeth and regrouped. Boromir stepped into my silent pause with some idiotic common sense about how this had nothing to do with courage and everything to do with survival. But I ignored all that and said, "I'm not some fragile, tragic excuse of a once-functional warrior, sir! I'm Captain of the Ithilien Rangers! I've gone into many battles still wounded from previous ones!"

"I'm sure you have," he said. "But you're not going to this time. And it isn't because you're something less than Faramir, Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. You know that isn't it, sweetling."

Calling me by that endearment in the middle of my raging was just about the lowest blow Boromir could've delivered. I felt my frenzy start to deflate and he struck again.

"Come here, little urchin," he murmured, and he swept his big arms over and around me, stubbornly gathering me close, despite my rigid unyielding.

"No! Boromir, don't do tha – let me g – I don't want – stop – !"

"Shhh, sweetling," he purred. "I know."

Ever the brilliant tactician my brother.

I sat quietly, swallowing down the sharp pain lodged in my throat, my stiff limbs slowly melting against him. Finally I muttered, "You never intended to let me draw my sword, did you?"

He sighed. "I didn't think we'd need to fight. If I had believed there was any possibility of danger I wouldn't have suggested this little adventure. Nay, Faramir. I never intended you to draw your sword." I stared at him, crushed, and he turned to me with those kind eyes. "It was selfishness, sweetling. I wanted to please you, but it was selfish of me to suggest this without first making sure it was safe. I knew what Aragorn said, and what the Warden said, but I still put you in harm's way. I never should have done so." He kissed my brow. "Seems I'm ever wanting to play hero for you, little urchin."

At once I felt embarrassed for him. "Play" hero? Didn't he know that he already was a hero to me? That, no matter what, he had ever been and would ever be a hero to me? I shook my head saying, "But, you didn't know you were putting me in harm's w – "

"I never should have taken such a risk." He paused, then: "Faramir, if something happens to you – "

"Nothing will!" I quickly interrupted. "Nothing will happen to me. As you said, all we needs do is sit and wait." I burrowed against his big solid body and we sat like that for some time, Boromir petting my hair the way he used to when I was a boy. I shamelessly drank it in. Finally, I said, "It was selfishness on my part, too. I knew what would happen."

"You knew?"

"Well, I didn't know these orcs would be here, no."

"But, like me, you didn't really think that we might run across something dangerous, did you?"

I thought about that for a long moment. "No. No, I guess I really didn't. But I knew that, even if we didn't meet with danger in here, we'd meet with certain doom afterwards."

"Certain doom?"

"That's what Devon calls it."

"Devon?"

"Devon, yes." I drew back to look at him. "You know. Devon. The Ranger in Aragorn's troop, fair as an elf – "

"Aye, Faramir, of course I know who Devon is. But --"

"Gwin calls it Certain Doom, too, I think."

"Gwinthorian?"

I frowned and studied him. "What's the matter with you?"

He sputtered a chuckle. "I'm merely shocked by the company you've been keeping. Two of the most wayward young rogues in the Grey Company and my little urchin? There's a fearsome thought."

I grinned. "I think we're well suited."

"Oh, indeed. Add Master Took and we'd need to post an armed guard on the lot of you."

"Well, I've had little opportunity to be with Gwinthorian and Devon, and when we do get together Halbarad and Garrick always seem to be around, too."

"But the three of you have had occasion to discuss certain doom."

"I can't recall how it came up, but yes."

He chuckled again. "Devon is right. Certain doom is a fine way to describe what awaits us when this business is over."

"Yes, and that's what I knew would happen – certain doom. We invited it the moment we entered these sewers." I rubbed my face against his tunic. "As if the need for a rescue isn't humiliation enough, Boromir, we're in unspeakable trouble."

"We are that, little brother. Unspeakable."

I uttered a vulgar elvish curse. Boromir was silent for a moment, then he said with feigned disinterest, "What does that mean?"

I smiled to myself. He was ever trying to learn elvish profanity but those who knew it teasingly refused to oblige him. So I told him.

He gasped. "It means _that?"_

"Foul, isn't it?"

"Filthy. And I'm certain I've heard Frodo say it."

I laughed. "Oh, no! Not that little innocent!"

"Aye, more than once. Pippin, too. How do you say it again?"

He needed no further instruction. A second later Boromir blurted out that elvish curse perfectly when a deafening roar made us both jump. The din of what sounded like a hundred bellowing men exploded through the tunnels, orcish shrieks and howls joining the clang of colliding weapons!

We leapt up and tore 'round the bend to the sight of pure chaos. A flood of hacking, slashing warriors poured in upon the panicking orcs, a pitched battle erupting into full swing. We raced forward, drawing our swords, then Boromir froze and shot me a sudden wild look. I froze, too, returning his stare.

"NOOO!" he thundered. He grabbed my upper arm and hauled me back. "Stay here!"

Stay here? Was he mad? I shook free and fled down the passage ahead of him.

"FARAMIR! NOOOO!"

A second later an iron arm clamped 'round my waist. Boromir yanked me against him and whisked me up and then, _WHOOSH!_ I was flying, my feet sailing in a wide arc as he spun and everything whirled then – _slam!_ My back hit the wall and he held me, pinned, one huge fist knotted in my clothes, pressing firmly at my chest. I struggled, gasping, furious! But a solid shield of Boromir blocked me in. I was missing my chance! Damrod's soldiers would have slain every cursed orc whilst I was held prisoner by a bulwark of big brother.

"Boro – let me g –!"

Boromir quickly sheathed his sword, then he jerked me forward and I glanced over my shoulder and saw him draw his arm all the way behind his head and _SWAT!_ I sucked a ragged gasp, stunned by the force of that whack. My hand flew back to rub the sting. But Boromir forced me against the wall again and shoved his face close to mine.

"Faramir! Look at me!"

I did, still wincing.

Flushed with fury, eyes bright, he growled, "Sheath your sword! At once!"

I gaped at him.

"Do it!" he grated.

I did, squeezing my eyes shut tight against my rage.

"Look at me, Faramir!" he again commanded.

I obliged, trying to conjure enough humility to satisfy him. Boromir studied me closely, glowered, tugged me forward again, and, oh, no! _WHAP!_

"AH!" I yelped, my eyes watering as he once more he pushed me against the wall.

"Stay here! DO. NOT. MOVE! Understand?"

I nodded, swallowing hard.

"Say you understand!"

"I-I understand! Yes, sir."

"I mean it, Faramir! STAY!"

"Yes, Boromir. Yes, sir."

My brother glared at me for another moment, then he turned and charged down the tunnel into the fray. In less than a minute he'd made himself very clear. I was to Stay. Put. I rubbed my backside, watching Boromir swing his immense sword with lethal efficiency and poetic grace, cutting down one orc after another. Breathtaking, the sight of my magnificent brother in action!

I watched, admiring his skill. Then I drew my sword and charged down the tunnel into the fray with him.

End part 5  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued

8


	6. Chapter 6

**Foster Father of The Heart - part 6**  
by Larrkin

"Do you think he can do it? Spank us one right after the other?"

"Did he say that he intends to do just that when he returns?"

Faramir winced and gave a nod.

"And have you ever known Damrod to lie?"

"No."

"Then I reckon he can. In fact, little brother, I'm certain of it, and I vow you are too."

Heaving a sigh, Faramir mumbled, "Given the degree of effort he puts into it you'd think the man would tire after one victim."

"Given the degree of his fury I think we'll be lucky to get only one spanking a piece." I paused to lift a brow at him. "Mayhap someone told him about the 'every other night for a week' strategy, Aragorn perhaps, or Legolas. Maybe even Halbarad."

"Do you think . . . ?"

I shrugged. "'Tis possible. Aragorn said that Halbarad was the first to introduce the practice and he's become friends with Damrod."

Faramir groaned.

"Even if Damrod hasn't learned of it yet, they could decide to enlighten him when they return. Knowing Aragorn and Legolas, they might even offer to share in the – " I heard my words and paused, instantly imagining a reunion I didn't care to imagine.

"– share in the . . . spanking?"

I grimaced.

"I'd sooner not envision that, thank you, Boromir."

"Nor would I, little brother." I glanced at him.

Fidgeting in the chair across from me, all clean and glowing after his bath, Faramir looked like a little boy, the firelight warming his skin and bouncing off his bright locks. Fresh shirt and breeches, no more black orc blood-splattered clothes and nary a scratch on him, the infuriating brat. He'd flouted my orders to stay put, and when the battle was over he had emerged, thank the mercies, completely unscathed. And, in true Faramir fashion, he'd even emerged a hero.

Racing straight into the battle just moments after I had ordered him to stay behind, my infuriating brat of a brother burst from the tunnel, sword slashing, battering back two orcs who had young Valerian down and were moving in for the kill. I'd spun, seen the boy's plight and was racing his way when I heard Bram's roar and saw him nearly at Val's side; but Faramir was already between the orcs and the boy, running the first orc through, hurling him off his sword and then running the second orc through just as Bram reached Valerian and hoisted him to his feet.

His stalwart face tight with emotion, Bram clapped a hand on Faramir's shoulder, shoved Val behind him and they turned back to the battle, the little one staying well in Bram's shadow. Faramir whirled, saw me, and with unashamed joy he flashed me one of those enormous smiles he used to give me when we would be fighting alongside each other, the immortal sons of Gondor, spurring each other on. I wrestled with my anger. But Faramir's eyes glittered and danced and he looked beautiful and delighted and just like his old self. So I had to smile back. Infuriating bratling! I gave him a nod and a wink and we returned to the fight.

It was brief. The orcs were seriously outnumbered. With his typical efficiency Damrod had swiftly mustered what looked like at least a hundred warriors, then stealthily hurried them through the sewers and up to the very edge of the orc nest, those odd noise-deadening air currents working to Damrod's advantage. The orcs, being their thick orcish selves, had posted no watch. So Damrod's bellowing soldiers were well into the orc nest when Faramir and I scrambled around the corner.

I had to join that fight! Had to! But – ! Faramir! Nooo!

Absurd of me to expect of my brother what I could never have done myself. Faramir had to join in, too. He had to follow me. And I had to permit that. What choice did I have? And the instant he'd appeared he saved Valerian's life. So typical of my little brother.

The two of us were instantly well into the fight, as many of the orcs, frantic to escape, began charging the tunnel where Faramir and I had been hiding. We were the only two blocking that opening and we could have been quickly overwhelmed, but Faramir's six Rangers, including a ferocious-looking Damrod, now mysteriously formed around us.

The orcs, desperate and hunted on so many fronts that they'd been forced to trespass in this risky place, were now crazed. Which was perfect. Faramir and I felt a bit crazed, too. Sitting in the dark, trapped, helpless and forced to wait for a rescue had been harrowing, so hacking into the creatures responsible for that was highly satisfying.

And then it was over. Quite suddenly it seemed. I glanced around. Every orc lay slain, but not a soldier had fallen. Astonishing. So incredibly fortunate. Had a single man been killed or maimed whilst rescuing us from this foolishness . . . well, no one had, thank the Valar. Even the wounds were small and superficial, the kinds of battle tokens warriors enjoyed bragging about and comparing. I shuddered with relief, unable to keep from imagining what could have happened.

But then I turned, and there was Faramir, and we looked at each other, and we couldn't help it – we broke into instant beaming smiles, and then burst out laughing. He was stepping around the carcasses towards me, and I held out my arms and grabbed him up in a fierce embrace, and we held on tight, still laughing, both of us splattered with black ooze and neither of us caring. I was so proud of him I could scarce draw breath!

I pulled him back and kissed his forehead and cried, "_Well done, little brother! Well done!"_

_"You, too, big brother!"_ Faramir beamed at me with that familiar gaze of adoration.

We stood staring at each other, savoring our thankfulness. Rescued! We were rescued! Undamaged! And for that precious instant all was perfection. Separating then, we glanced around. The soldiers were milling about, some starting to drag the bodies into a pile, some sauntering back after chasing down the orcs who had tried to escape, all of them moving with calm and casual certainty. I recognized these men, of course. They were either Minas Tirith soldiers or men attached to Osgiliath. Seasoned warriors. And it was more than plain that, whether or not this skirmish should have taken place, the men had truly enjoyed it. Their robust, lively faces were relaxed and full of easy humor, and they called to each other, nodding to grinning comrades, chuckling and sharing the pleasure of victory. Faramir and I delighted in some happy backslapping with his six Rangers who had stayed nearest us during the battle.

"_Thank you for saving my life, my lord,"_ young Val said, staring up at Faramir with the same familiar look of adoration that Faramir had just given me.

Faramir tousled the boy's curls and grinned sheepishly, then he glanced at Bram, and my brother's grin faded. I followed his gaze, seeing that the big warrior's face had begun to cloud. In fact, the manner of Faramir's other Rangers now shifted. The men seemed to withdraw from us, almost shyly removing themselves, as though a shield slammed down between us, but instead of wandering away to walk off their post-battle energy and help the others drag bodies, the Rangers lingered, shifting their weight from foot to foot and regarding us with a respectful, yet somehow distant attentiveness.

Odd. I looked at Faramir and he returned my bewildered glance, and all at once, I couldn't say why, I had the uncanny feeling that Faramir's men were following orders to keep us under guard. Absurd notion. But I didn't feel the least bit inclined to put these men into an awkward position by testing it, for such an order could have come from only one source.

I looked over at Damrod, my stomach fluttering. Since the battle ended he had been standing with his back to us a distance off across the sea of carcasses, talking to several of Minas Tirith's corporals. They were listening and nodding, and then Damrod whapped each man on the shoulder, pivoted, and headed our way. He flashed Faramir and me a brief glance, as though making sure where we were, then he turned his attention elsewhere, sweeping his gaze over the small field of battle, advancing toward us like a consummate commander. Everyone knew that I was the highest-ranking officer there, yet everyone understood who was in charge.

My stomach's flutter turned into one big knot. Unable to look away, I watched Damrod coming nearer, and from the corner of my eye I saw Faramir also standing at rigid attention, gazing at the man we knew all too well. After years of intense study, my brother and I spoke fluent Damrod and that first glance our way had been a calm glance. Damrod still looked calm. Thunderously, ominously calm. Nothing boded more ill than a serene Damrod. Faramir whispered our elvish curse before I could, but I whispered it anyway. Excellent word. I loved that word. I practiced it several more times under my breath until Faramir whispered, "_Don't let him hear you say that."_

Staring at our approaching lieutenant, my brother stepped closer to me and said in a hushed voice, "_Boromir, hav-have you ever seen him this horribly calm?"_

_"Never quite this bad."_

_"Neither have I."_ Silence, then: "_We should make a run for it."_

_"You first, little brother."_

Nearing the Rangers, Damrod bestowed an easy word and commendatory grin upon each one. He even ruffled Val's locks as Faramir had done and gave the boy a wink, saying, "_Well done, youngling."_ Then Damrod nodded at Calder and Bram and the men wordlessly drifted apart and wandered away, melting in amongst the other warriors. Aye, we'd been degradingly under guard. My post-battle thrill vanished as I was again struck by the impact of my foolishness and the lives I'd carelessly put at risk simply in a desire to please my little brother.

I felt wholly deserving when Damrod, his gaze downcast, halted before us, rested his big paw on the pommel of his sword, then lifted his eyes and looked back and forth between us with his forbidding stare of absolute wrath. Few beings can make me quail with just a look. Damrod was one of them.

"Boromir?"

I jumped, yanked from my musings, and looked at my brother, sitting quiet and golden in the glow of the firelight.

"Sorry. Were you back at the battle?"

"Aye."

He cocked me a patient smile. "You were brooding again."

"Sorry," I said quickly, winking at him. "Sorry, little one."

A shadow crept into his gray eyes. Ah, here it came again, that '_are you sure you're not angry with me for joining the fight'_ question. The Wrath of Damrod was about to descend upon him and what occupied Faramir's worries? Whether or not I was upset with him for disobeying me.

I truly wasn't. I wasn't angry with him in the least. I'd reconciled myself to the fact that it was unrealistic of me to think that Faramir could simply stand down and watch such a battle. And I certainly didn't blame him for any of this. Oh, he'd set things in motion this morning by trying to play on my sympathies; he wouldn't be my urchin if he hadn't done that. But I'd meant what I told him earlier – I made the decision to do this, I came up with the plan and the responsibility was mine alone. And now I deserved the humiliation about to come.

But, right now, sitting here contemplating being spanked in front of my little brother, and knowing all Damrod was going to wring from me before I would be allowed up from his lap had sent me scurrying for any kind of mental escape, even drifting back to memories of the skirmish. I regretted leaving Faramir alone with his own brooding, though. In truth, it was taking nearly all my effort to sit still and at least appear calm. I longed to jump up and pace. Movement might have helped steady my inner quivering, but Faramir was unnerved enough without having to watch me pace like a caged warg.

"_Are you sure you're not angry with me for joining the fight?"_ was right there on his lips, and when it came out it would be the fourth time that he had asked me that question. I decided to intercept him: "No, little brother. I'm not angry with you for joining the fight. It was unfair of me to expect you to hold back."

He looked mildly startled. Impressed to silence by my insight again, no doubt.

"I wasn't going to ask that."

"Oh." I darted him a rueful smirk. "Sorry."

"Well . . . ." Little mischievous laugh. "Maybe, I was."

I shook my head at him. "Aren't you in enough trouble? Does provoking me help you feel less anxious?"

He grinned. "Yes. But thanks to you, and something I just remembered, I hereby pledge to never ask you that tiresome question again. I'm surprised you didn't think to tell me this straightaway, since you've won several arguments with it."

He watched me figure it out and start to chuckle. "Ah," my brother said, much too delighted with himself. "One last time then: Boromir, are you angry with me for joining the fight?"

"Of course not," I replied. "It's what I would do."

And when our laughter slowed, Faramir said, "So, is this what you would do, too?"

I gave him a vague look.

"If you were in Damrod's place and I was in this position with someone else, that is to say, if you were going to, well –"

"If I was going to spank you and some other unruly bratling who had caused a bit of disastrous mischief?"

Delightful fond scowl from my little brother, then: "If you were going to unjustly discipline me and some other innocent soul after we became involved in an accidental accident that simply wasn't our fault."

"Ha!"

"Is this what you would do, too? Would you make us wait like this, agonizing for hours and hours?"

I snorted, certain that he knew we'd only been waiting here for no more than one, albeit very long, hour. "Most likely. And 'twould be a mercy, little brother, because if this so-called 'accidental accident that simply wasn't your fault' proved typical of my urchin I would be greatly in need of some calming down time ere I laid hands on you."

"So, all things considered, we shouldn't resent Damrod for making us wait."

"I didn't say that." We chuckled, then I said, "At least we're waiting together. If you and Gwinthorian were the ones in trouble and Halbarad was seeing to your discipline, he would no doubt be inclined to make the two of you wait in separate chambers, without the benefit of each other's company and comfort."

Faramir peered at me wide-eyed. "He'd do _that?"_

I gave him a grim look and a nod. "No matter, though. Gwinthorian would surely be poor company. I reckon that little one is right moody when waiting for a spanking."

Faramir snickered.

"Devon wouldst probably be growly, too, were the two of you waiting for Garrick."

"Umm." Faramir now narrowed his eyes and studied me closely, a sudden glitter of perception in his gaze. "Let's talk about something els – "

"So I doubt you'd want to await certain doom with either Devon or Gwinthorian."

"As opposed to your cheering company."

"I'm just saying, little brother, that if you were about to go bare-bottomed up over Halbarad's knee – "

"Boromir, enough! Please!"

" – or if Garrick was about to spank you – "

"I don't care to imagine myself in that predicament with either Garrick or Halbarad, thank you."

"Nor do I." I grinned. "But I find that I don't mind imagining you there, little urchin."

"What?!" Faramir scowled at me, then snarled a new and quite filthy-sounding elvish word. "And I'm not telling you what that one means," he said.

I chuckled. Fine sport, watching Faramir glower at me with feigned annoyance and fidget as though feeling the effects of what I'd planted in his unwilling imagination.

Perhaps it might be considered bad form to plague my brother with such talk, but it was diverting him from his own brooding and, aside from a few slips wherein memory had distracted me, I'd been trying to comfort Faramir in any way I could. For although the dread I felt involved my loss of dignity in front of my little brother, his dread involved facing the breach that festered between him and Damrod.

Our lieutenant would be arriving any moment now to take Faramir over his knee for the first time since that breach was torn. So a dark melancholy hovered in this room with us, and although we both knew it was there, neither of us chose to give it notice. I knew my brother didn't want to talk about it and I wasn't going to drag him kicking and screaming into some conversation that would do little to help ease his anxiousness.

So, distract, distract, distract, aye, that I could do. Bad form or no, I would resort to whatever might keep him from sinking into some dark place where I didn't know how to reach him and couldn't bear to see him dwell. There wasn't much else I could do for my little brother. He had all the big brotherly love and comfort I could give him. Faith, how I loved him! But, in this instance what Faramir needed most could only come from Damrod. And that was as it should be. That was just. Damrod had exceptional powers to heal, and at this moment, his was the only healing that could help my urchin.

So I prayed he chose to spank Faramir first, not because I loathed the idea of my little brother watching me shatter over Damrod's knee, although I did indeed loath it – and, alas, that was going to happen regardless of my desires or the order in which Damrod chose to spank us – but to ease Faramir's suffering first and to end this anguish between them with no further delay.

And just what was Damrod thinking, making him wait this long? Blast the man! Where was he?

End part 6  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	7. Chapter 7

**Foster Father of The Heart - part 7**  
by Larrkin

Bless my big brother. Trying so hard to distract me from brooding, even going so far as to suggest the notion of me being spanked by either Halbarad or Garrick, then trying to make me squirm by talking about how interesting it would be to see that and how he wouldn't mind it at all! Heartless man, my brother. Ah, how I loved him!

I longed to tell Boromir that he needn't try so hard to save me from suffering my own dark thoughts. Having practiced the finest of strategies all my life I was now well accomplished in contending with hurts. I banished them to an inner bog so black and deep that they disappeared, no longer haunting my every waking moment. I knew those hurts were there, but they served no purpose save to cause me harm, so they were best left buried.

That's where the hurtful breach between Damrod and I now remained. If I started to dwell upon that hurt I might give the dark enough power to pull me down into that bog, as it had when I thought I had lost Boromir – both times I thought I had lost him. I was determined to never again visit that place.

So I didn't think about that breach. It didn't affect me. It was no longer . . . real. And as for Damrod and I . . . well . . . all was as it should be. It was. We were . . . . We were fine. Just fine.

That was why when Boromir suggested our adventure today I was able to give that unresolved breach no more than a cursory mental glance to make sure it was still buried in that dark bog. It was, and I wanted to do what I wanted to do, breach and consequences be cursed! As I told Boromir, I knew certain doom awaited us if we chose to go adventuring, and I'd chosen it anyway.

So now I wished that I could save him this effort he felt he needed to make to distract me, tell my fretful, protective big brother, "_Peace, Boromir. I have this well in hand."_

But, how could I tell him how unnecessary his efforts were? It would serve no purpose for me to point out that I knew what he was trying to do, and it would embarrass Boromir to learn that I saw through him and that he was being so obvious. I could never do such a cold, ungrateful thing. My brother had ever put my needs first, even now, during what was surely a most anxious moment for him. Damrod was about to spank him for the first time since he was twenty-one years old – and in front of me. For mercy's sake, Boromir had enough to fret about! Humiliated in front of his little brother – oh!

I ached for him. And I longed to help him. And the only help I could give my brother was to offer him the comforting sense that he was helping me, successfully diverting me from my dark foreboding. So I would do all I could to give him that comfort, accepting his aid whether or not I needed it. And I wasn't totally humoring him; Boromir was helping me, filling this strained period of waiting with our fond back and forth banter. It had always served to ease our tension. That, coupled with his subtle touches of solace, truly were helping.

That solace began right after the battle when Damrod finished glaring at us. With all the charm of the dead orc at his feet, my lieutenant snarled, "_Gentlemen, come with me."_ Then he turned and stalked off, Boromir and I dutifully following.

At once Boromir had begun his reassuring, nudging me and flashing me a wink and one of his 'be-brave-little-brother' grins. I reassured him right back, flashing him a return wink and one of my 'don't-worry-about-me-big-brother' grins, and off we trudged after our horribly, calmly livid lieutenant. I vow I felt every eye following us. I knew how this must look, and didn't want to see these men watching our exit, but some perverse need made it impossible for me to keep from glancing back. So I did, and I was glad I did, because, in truth, the men weren't watching us at all. They were too absorbed in their own duties to care about my brother and me – all save one.

The moment I turned back, Valerian lifted his head and shot me a startled look. Innocent that he is, the lad would never have imagined what Damrod was about to do to Boromir and me. Bram knew, though. Dropping a glance to Val, he followed the boy's gaze to me, then he muttered something to him that snapped the lad's attention back to his duties.

I was strangely shaken. I knew that when Valerian asked Bram where we were going – and of course Val would ask – Bram would not tell him that Lieutenant Damrod was taking Captain Faramir and the Steward of Gondor off to spank them. Still –

"_Don't look back, little brother,"_ Boromir had whispered beside me. I turned to him. Amazing that Boromir always said I had sad eyes. He didn't look in the glass much, my big brother. At that moment his gaze was drenched in such guilty melancholy it near broke my heart.

So I gave him another 'don't-worry-about-me-big-brother' grin, as the first one had clearly failed to work, and I followed it up by telling him something that I hoped would cheer him, something to help him see that I truly was managing all this with mature grace and my typical exceeding good will:

"_See?"_ I murmured in a sly tone. "_Told you I could fight. Fragile indeed! I expect an apology at your earliest possible convenience, Master Steward sir."_

Boromir stared at me for a moment, then he burst out laughing. Silently of course. Rather amazing to witness, as he looked ready to rupture something in the effort to keep from attracting Damrod's attention. It was wicked of me to do that to my own brother at a moment when he dared not be heard enjoying himself. But his silent laugh had reached Boromir's eyes, making them crinkle wonderfully at the corners, and, in that moment I saw that my brother's fears for me were at last calmed.

"_Faramir,"_ Damrod had said without turning around.

I flinched and answered him as my brother and I had ever answered our lieutenant when we were in disgrace: "_Yes, sir?"_

_"Not another word."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"I antagonized him, sir,"_ Boromir fibbed in an admirable show of brotherly unity and self-sacrifice. Ever the hero.

"_Boromir."_

_"Aye, sir?"_

_"Another lie like that shall find you visiting my bar of soap."_

We'd exchanged a look of dread. It must've been near to twenty – twenty-five years since Damrod last soaped out Boromir's mouth, but our lieutenant was horridly thorough at it. The memory of it was evidently still vivid for my brother, who paled at once.

"_Pardon, sir,"_ Boromir had said in haste.

Damrod had never demanded, nor had he ever needed to demand that "sir."

He led us out of the sewers, through Osgiliath and straight to our horses, then we rode in silence – and at an intolerably moderate pace – back to Minas Tirith where Damrod marched us directly up to Boromir's chamber and left us with specific orders: We were to bathe, change, eat and wait for him to return. The first two tasks completed I then won a glorious battle with Boromir over the third – my untouched dinner:

"_MY untouched dinner?"_ I'd exclaimed, yanking the cover from his still-full tray. He didn't bother to look.

"_I wasn't hungry."_

_"Nor was I. You cannot demand that I eat when you – "_

_"I can afford to leave mine untouched, little urchin. I'm in perfect health. You, however, are still healing and – "_

_"Oh, no. No more 'you're still fragile' talk."_

_"I wasn't going to – "_

_"Good. Because when it comes to choking down food at this moment, I shall repeat your words to me from earlier today – you first, big brother."_

_"This is a little different – "_

And we had been off once more on our distracting squabbles. Yes, those untouched trays had provided us with as nice a bit of diversion, as had Boromir's clever, '_I don't mind imagining you over Halbarad's knee, little urchin'_ device.

Now, however, during this lull, I watched my brother searching his mind for something to distract me, the poor man gripping the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up and pacing. I was at the point of blurting out, "_For the love of all that's sacred, brother of mine, feel free to pace!"_

Then, suddenly – !

I jumped up. "Boromir!" He nearly exploded from his chair. Awful thing to do to a man strung tight as my bowstring. "Sorry," I said with a wild chuckle. "But I just got a brilliant idea! It's perfect!"

He shifted himself around, resettling his dignity, and casting me a highly dubious look. "There are no garden walls to climb outside my window, Faramir."

I rushed to the desk in the far corner, too excited to scowl, saying, "Come! Hurry! We should start making notes now! Share ideas! Start preparing! There's no time to waste!"

"Share wha – prepare for wha – ?"

I grabbed up such an enormous armful of parchment that I had to fight to keep it in my arms. It shifted and slipped, but I won the battle of balance, then I peeked around the wildly overflowing papers for writing materials, muttering, "Ink, ink, ink . . . and quills, and . . . . Ah! I'm so stupid! Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

"Think of wha – ?"

"The time we've wasted! We could've been doing this all along!"

"Doing wha – ?"

"Even if we don't know the exact topic, we could have guessed, readied some basic replies, helped each other – oh, where are the cursed quills?"

"Faramir."

Boromir's surprisingly deep and gentle tone jarred me. I turned to him, struggling with the slipping, shifting papers in my arms and the inkwell in my hand. He was softly laughing, studying me with sympathetic affection.

"The treatise, yes?" he said, getting up and strolling across the room to me. "You're thinking we can share ideas, maybe even begin preparing the treatise Damrod's probably going to make us write as he has in the past. Ten pages apiece, yes? With a title like, '_Reasons Why Climbing the Tower of Ecthelion Is a Dangerous Enterprise, and Why I Shall Never Again Attempt Such an Asinine Deed,'_ or, in your case . . . what was your treatise entitled, little brother?"

"'_Reasons Why Climbing Vines Up High Garden Walls Is a Dangerous Enterprise and Why I Shall Never Again Attempt Such an Asinine Deed,'_" I muttered, wincing. "Ten pages."

"Which he made us read aloud to him – "

"– and then throw in the fire." I sniffed a rueful little laugh. "And then . . . ."

"Spanked."

"Extremely."

Boromir slowly shook his head, giving me his '_isn't my brother adorable'_ grin and saying, "Ah, little urchin. 'Tis indeed a fine idea to work out our pages now. Your typical brilliance. Nicely devious. I wish I'd thought of it myself. But – "

"You know he'll make us do it," I said. "I can hear him now: 'Each of you will write me a ten page treatise entitled, '_Reasons Why Exploring Potentially Orc-Infested Sewers Is a Dangerous Enterprise, and Why I Shall Never Again Attempt Such an Asinine Deed.'_"

Boromir burst into such a roar of laughter it made me laugh, too. It was a while before he could speak. "Aye!" he exclaimed, chuckling and wiping his eyes. "You have it! That sounds just like him!"

"And you agree. We're going to be reading essays to him tomorrow."

"In all likelihood, aye. But, sweetling, if Damrod does make us write one of his essays I doubt he'll give us the same topic. He knows my clever little brother would devise some way for us to share the work and lighten our load."

I thought this over, then: "I suppose you're right."

"Suppose?"

"You're right."

"Mmm." Boromir grinned softly at me, then ruffled my hair. "I suppose I am."

Now wholly deflated, I scowled and grumbled, "That man really is a most detestable lieutenant."

"Oh, indeed, he is that." We exchanged a look of mutual fondness for the detestable lieutenant we both loved, then Boromir's gaze fell to the papers in my arms. "Faith, little urchin!" he exclaimed with a smirk as though suddenly noticing my predicament, "hand me some of those."

He reached out to help, but I'd grabbed up such an enormous stack of papers and they were still so wretchedly slippery that they were hard to move without dropping everything. We stood there, huffing, fighting the cumbersome mass.

"Faramir, by all that is blessed . . . !" Boromir muttered under his breath, wrestling the load, "What were you thinking?"

"No idea," I honestly replied. "But I say we let loose the lot and then pick it all up."

"'_We?'_" Boromir snorted. "Ha! What do you mean '_we,_' sir?"

And we both started chuckling then at how ridiculously we were bungling such a silly task, and in those brief moments of our struggles the door opened and there stood our detestable lieutenant, his big, solid frame filling the entranceway.

We froze, instantly sobering, arms full of parchment, staring at him. Damrod took one look at us, closed the door, then said, "Surely you do not suppose that I would assign both of you the same essay."

End part 7  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	8. Chapter 8

**Foster Father of The Heart - part 8**  
by Larrkin

I had waited long enough.

I paused at the door, flexing my right hand, more than ready for this, sensing my two errant lads within, both of them, as usual, more anxious about each other than themselves. Boromir fretting about Faramir and Faramir worrying about Boromir – 'twas ever thus. All heart, my boys. And such wounded hearts. How I loved them! And how fortunate they had been this day. I flexed my hand again, feeling exceedingly fortunate myself to be the one about to enter this room and discipline them both. Mine. They were both mine.  
An hour ago they had sent their trays back to the kitchens – "_Untouched, sir,"_ so I was told. I would let that pass. For the time being. We had more pressing issues awaiting us than their refusal to eat.

My boys were likely climbing the walls by now. As long as they weren't climbing garden vines or the Tower of Ecthelion. There were no escape routes, daring or otherwise, from the Steward's chambers, though I had no fears they would try to flee. I had chosen Boromir's rooms not because they were secure, but because, like the King's chambers, they were in a place where one could make a great deal of noise without being heard from the outside.

Laughing. I blinked at the memory. They had been laughing. I had turned and watched them in the first moments after the skirmish, studying them from behind a shifting current of roaming soldiers – my boys, their attention locked only on each other. 'Twas how it had ever been with them. Boromir had swept a glance around, taking in the situation, then he turned to his little brother and they grinned, then laughed. Moments later they were embracing, Boromir picking Faramir up off the ground, both of them fiercely hugging. And laughing, still laughing. I turned away, swallowing my fury.

Of course they were relieved and overjoyed. I understood how they felt, seeing each other unscathed, and I shared their happiness, having kept one eye on them during the fight, making certain they had matters well in hand

But this celebration should not be taking place at all, so my relief had been tempered with a quiet rage I could not indulge. When the last orc had fallen and those seconds of eerie post-battle peace descended, I had put aside enjoying the moment with my Rangers and had instead stalked off to find Minas Tirith's corporals, to give them orders and to inform them of the situation: 'Captain Faramir and the Steward were both wanted immediately in Minas Tirith,' I told them – 'twas the truth; they were indeed both wanted, by me. 'I would escort them back straightaway, so the corporals would needs take charge of matters here.'

My Rangers already had their orders and they would follow them to the letter. Glancing back I saw exactly what I had expected to see, six Rangers, feigning indifference, forming a loose semi-circle barrier around two celebrating and unsuspecting brothers. I had wanted my boys to be right where I could easily find them afterwards. I would have no patience for tracking them down amidst the wandering warriors.

"_Keep formation around them afterwards as well, until I relieve you,"_ I told Bram and Calder earlier, racing towards the sewers. They nodded, no questions asked. But soon, after Bram had dropped back, I heard a young voice, murmuring:

"_Afterwards, too, sir? We are to surround them during a fight, I know, but if there is a battle, and if all the orcs are dead, then why – "_

_"Valerian."_

At times of high apprehension, that boy had an absolute gift for being unsuitable.

Finished with the corporals and striding back, I glanced past the wall of Rangers and noticed that my boys had sobered. They caught my glimpse, but I looked away at once, turning to survey the gruesome scene. Most fortunate that none of our men were dead or badly injured. I'd call it miraculous but for the fact that the orcs had been so outnumbered. Nevertheless, they fought with the ferocious savagery of the desperate and nothing in battle is assured. So, still wrestling my anger, I shook off my final post-engagement shocks and warmly greeted our Rangers, relieving them of their post.

Valerian accepted my praise, bouncing about like an excited puppy, despite his near disaster, but Bram cast me a grim look, and another shudder ripped through me, a memory flashing of the boy down and Faramir jumping in from nowhere, driving his sword through the first enormous orc, then the second. And when the Rangers moved away and I stood before my boys and lifted my gaze to them they had no trouble grasping my mood. On high alert they peered back at me, both of them properly mortified.

And now, again, here they stood, my boys, caught in the act and peering at me, this time with their arms full of papers. Boromir's chagrined look dismissed any doubts I might have had about what they were planning to do. But Faramir's expression was blank. No remorse there. Of course this had to have been his idea. It was too impishly devious for his brother to have conjured it. Boromir, thoroughly ashamed of himself, would prove no problem, but I knew that his remorseless little brother was ready to erupt.

I moved a few steps into the room, saying, "Put those things down."

Ever just what he appeared to be, a sheepish Boromir lowered his arms and stacked his papers with care on the desk. But Faramir remained still, glaring at me, his fair cheeks beginning to flush and his eyes glittering. Aye, we were very close to igniting.

Of course there had been no question in my mind who would grace my lap first. And now something had burst within Faramir and my genial boy was well on his way to becoming a bristling, cornered warg. I had seen that look on his face from the first time he felt brave enough to challenge me. Faramir wanted a fight.

Perfect. Just like that day in the Ithilien woods. We needed to begin now as we had then, and had I believed Faramir planned this bit of treatise naughtiness with any forethought about what he would be putting into motion I would have hugged him senseless.

But, no; Faramir looked vague and mystified, as though wondering what was happening to him, where this building anger was coming from, as though he was desperately trying to think it through and reason it away.

Reason, however, had nothing to do with what Faramir was feeling. Of course he couldn't think through what was happening to him; Faramir was doing his best to avoid thinking these days, especially about our episode in the woods.

For weeks now I had watched him ignore the rift between us. And he had done so by employing the method that had worked for him his entire life; he closed it behind a wall within him, then strolled off and dismissed it. He knew it was entombed there, but as long as it stayed beyond his range of vision Faramir could tell himself it no longer affected him.

It did affect him, of course. It gnawed at him slowly. His deepest wounds never left him entirely. Given what I had witnessed Denethor do to his youngest son over the years, I could only imagine the depths of the boy's heartache. He had suffered what might have crippled a lesser man, twisting another into a beaten down shadow of hesitancy or a bitter soul seeking to wound others as he himself had been unfairly wounded.

But despite his father's cruelty, Faramir possessed a gentle, quiet spirit, still believing in the goodness of others and expecting the best in all things. And hope. Such hope that boy possessed. His ability to close sorrow away and disregard it on the outside protected that spirit and enabled Faramir to function and develop into the extraordinary man he had become.

So now he buried all manner of sorrow behind that wall, including our painful rift. If he no longer saw it or thought much on't he could tell himself it was no longer real. The rift was real, though. It was a rupture such as there had never been between us, and Faramir had initiated it. He had been near mad with grief at the time, but he refused to allow himself that excuse. To his way of thinking he had hurt me beyond all forgiving, and no apology he could make would ever be enough.

Just another misconception his father had created in Faramir – that no amount of apology for anything, especially for being himself, would ever have been enough. For all his intelligence Faramir was unable to hear some truths merely spoken to him. He needed to be shown, broken down to where he heard another's voice rather than Denethor repeating falsehoods in his mind.

Boromir had done much for his little brother in the Houses of Healing, although Faramir's bottom was woefully sore afterwards. Aragorn, too, had taken his turn, as had Legolas, both of them lovingly seeing to my boy's needs with a thoroughness that warmed my heart as much as it heated his backside. And now, at last, it was my turn. And my points were unique to Faramir and myself.

"_Aye,"_ Aragorn had said to me, "_among the three of us – "_

_"His 'three big brothers,'"_ Legolas had interrupted with a soft grin Aragorn and I returned.

"_Aye, we three big brothers have done what we could for him, but none of us could touch what lingers between the two of you,"_ Aragorn went on. "_As you know, Damrod, you alone can heal this for him."_

_"Aye, my lord."_

And, oh, how ready I was to do so! This had been festering long enough, and although I was certain he had no awareness of it, Faramir agreed. For today, with seemingly little consideration of the consequences that were sure to follow, he chose to join his big brother and defy Aragorn's orders. Aye, how he wanted this! He had now well and truly cornered himself and he was about to treat us to a display of jaw-dropping temper. In fact, Boromir's jaw did drop and his eyes blinked wide, and I found myself wishing there were time to remove the breakables.

"Faramir?" Boromir ventured. He reached over and plucked the inkwell from his brother's hand. A wise move, and not a moment too soon, as a second later Faramir hoisted the contents of his arms above his head and flung them towards the desk. Pages exploded through the air and sailed down, some landing on the desk, but most fluttering to the floor in wild disarray. Thank the Valar no ink was involved.

Faramir turned to me and said with quiet composure, "You said to put them down, Lieutenant. I vow I have obliged you."

Boromir stood silently glancing around at his brother's handiwork. It was astonishing that so much mess could be made in the blink of an eye, but it was Faramir's fury that no doubt startled his brother most. He studied his little brother again, then he turned to me with a 'be merciful' plea in his eyes. I planned to be. I planned to give Faramir exactly what he wanted.

"Boromir," I said, although I had to say it twice as the poor lad's worried gaze had returned to his little brother. "Boromir." He glanced at me, distracted. "Go," I said, nodding back at the chairs near the fire. "Return to your seat and stay there." The Steward looked once more at his brother, then back at me. I waited.

When Boromir was four years old, a young mercenary captain, wise beyond his years, listened to my concerns in dealing with the Steward's obstinate son when the boy grew older and gained a better understanding of his rank and privilege. After laughing and saying, "_Damrod, what makes you think my little fledgling does not already fully understand his rank and privilege?"_ Thorongil continued, "_Aye, there shall indeed come a time when Boromir will dare to stand before you and claim that he is the son of the Steward and that you have no right to dictate to him. He shall hate himself for every word he says and hate the feeling that he should be obliged to challenge your authority over him, for he loves you now, my friend, and he will have loved you an even longer time by then. He will be unable to understand himself and bewildered as to what he needs most from you._

_"Of course, what he needs most is to hear what he already knows to be true, what he feels in his heart, but has no language to express: There is a fundamental state, a deeper truth that eternally supplants rank and privilege. There is no overlord to love."_

I had nodded slowly, knowing I had just heard words I would never forget.

"_You will likely seldom need to repeat this to him once he hears it, for it is a truth that is written on the heart and housed in the soul. Boromir is clever enough to learn it at an early age and remember it always. However, he is strong-willed, so he shall certainly try to pull rank on you more than once. Deep inside, he will know better, for he believes in this truth, and he will be counting on you to remind him of it, and pull him from his downward plunge as only you can."_

Thorongil had then cast me his quiet, contemplative grin and said, "_But, Damrod, of course you know all this."_ And I had grinned back, and thought for a moment and nodded.

As Aragorn had predicted, over the years I needed to remind my boys of this truth but seldom, and today I knew that Boromir would have no need to hear it. He silently crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs near the hearth. He had no intention of challenging me.

Faramir, however, was another matter. He looked to be capable of anything. My gaze fell once again to the page-covered floor, and something Thorongil told me the night before he left Minas Tirith echoed in my mind:

"_Damrod, remember, in Boromir's most desperate times, when he is lost to himself, that is when he will need you the most. He will need to hear this truth. And that inner truth, my friend, shall be what stops my fledgling from ever outright refusing to be disciplined by you."_

That had failed to be true only once – one day in the Ithilien woods, when Faramir, lost to himself in horrific grief, had indeed refused to be disciplined by me. And, sewers notwithstanding, that was the real reason behind what had happened today, and why we were now here.

My livid boy and I faced each other across the room, his big brother sitting near the hearth, watching us. I could neither spare Boromir this, nor would he have wanted to be spared. He and Faramir had been through too much to exclude Boromir from what was about to happen.

"Pick up those pages, Faramir," I said.

End part 8  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	9. Chapter 9

**Foster Father of The Heart - part 9**  
by Larrkin

"But, sir, you told me to – "

"I heard you the first time. Thank you for reminding me. I am now telling you to pick them up and place them on the desk."

When I was of a humor to allow it a stand-off with Faramir could prove entertaining. He could talk rings around the sharpest wit. At the moment, however, he was angry. Strangely, but extremely angry. Yet he was still rational enough to be aware that high passion put one at a disadvantage, leaving Faramir bewildered by his violent fury, and flustered and embarrassed and cross with himself for feeling so out of control. Aye, my poor lad was awash with decidedly dangerous emotion. It filled the room. I sensed that Boromir remained fixed to his seat only by exercising his most tenacious will. But anxiety near shot from him in sparks, inspired by the same in his little brother.

It seemed almost unsporting to take advantage of Faramir when he was so impaired. Almost. His actions bespoke his hunger for a truly sincere spanking, so I would be doing him no favors by going easy on him simply because he was not quite himself. He was himself enough to know just what he wanted and how to go about getting it, and that was good enough to satisfy my conscience.

Of course, my boy had already done more than enough to earn that truly sincere spanking, so it was endearing that he felt the need to make things worse for himself than they already were. In part I longed to tell him, 'Come now, sir. Enough of this nonsense. You have earned a profound spanking ten times over. No need to further press your point.'

However, I would ne'er dream of depriving my deserving lad of what he so clearly desired. In fact, I was most eager to accommodate Faramir's wishes. And this prologue was necessary. All steps in order. So I said, "You shall either clean this mess up now or after I have finished with you. Choose, little boy. I think you wouldst rather do it now."

A slight widening of his eyes – oh, he was considering pushing me further, but being forced to gather up all those pages after receiving a thorough spanking clearly held no appeal for him. Faramir was still fuming and struggling to even form words, though, awful for this boy who used language with the skill of a master swordsman. Rage had slammed into him so intensely that he had no notion of how to make it stop, and he was fast losing the desire to try.

All Faramir needed now was a proper spark, a shove to spur him into action, but we had to get through this first struggle for power before we physically fought. Tussling on a surface of parchment would be treacherous, so if my lad refused to clear it away I would needs scoop him up and haul him directly to the bed and over my knee, foregoing a fight. And we needed that fight.

But now someone else became a distraction. Boromir knew better than to interfere, however, to my surprise he surged up from his seat, no doubt also sensing a looming battle and sharing my concerns about fighting on a slippery surface of parchment. He moved so swiftly he actually managed to snatch a page from the floor ere I stopped him.

"Boromir," I said. He froze and turned to me. "Did I give you permission to leave your chair?"

He blinked and shot a glance around the floor, as though surprised to find himself somewhere other than his seat, then, much as he had when he was six years old, Boromir dropped his gaze and shook his head.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Nay, sir," he replied in a small voice.

"Return to your seat. And drop that parchment, little boy."

The Steward of Gondor winced and dropped the parchment. We watched it languidly drift on wicked, mischievous currents, float over to the far corner of the room and, finally, land. Clearly miserable, Boromir cast his little brother a rueful glance and slunk back to his seat.

I turned to Faramir, freshly bristling at me for daring to speak to his big brother in such a shamefully disrespectful manner. Nodding at the floor, I said, "Now."

He looked at the papers with reproachful disgust, as though the horrid things had made a mess of themselves purely to make matters more difficult for him, then he snarled and attacked his task, huffing under his breath and snatching up pages with such fierce recklessness that they scattered even more, skittering from his grasping hands like spiteful entities bent on tormenting him. If it wasn't so pathetic a sight it might have been amusing. But none witnessing the scene would have had the coarseness to so much as snicker, for my poor lad was in such a pitiable state.

I could do naught but stand and observe. Boromir was likely wretched beyond measure, yet he remained fixed to his chair, sheer dogged will coming once more to his aid. Such a will that boy had! Still, I glanced at him, curious as to how he was staying seated. Ah. Of course. Boromir was gazing into the fire. He couldn't bear to watch. Another wise move.

At last, his arms laden with slipping, sliding parchment, Faramir half-fell across the desk, laying atop his burden as though to press it there securely, then he slowly withdrew his arms and rose. At once the pages became a mutinous landslide cascading towards the floor. Faramir scrambled about, bracing up here and grabbing there and slamming pages back down on the pile, a problem he could have avoided had he stacked the lot with any kind of patience. By the time he had slapped the last paper down, held the mountain still for a moment, made certain all was secure, then straightened to glower at me my usually gentle boy was near rabid. Perfect.

"Thank you," I said. "Now, sir -" I pointed to a spot on the floor directly in front of me. "Come here."

From the corner of my eye I saw Boromir go so rigid that he seemed to increase his height by several inches. But he remained seated, good lad, despite a quick help-seeking glance from his little brother.

"Faramir," I said, and I clicked my fingers at him. Oh, how my boys hated my finger clicking!

He fumed at me anew, then barked, "Why do I have to go first?"

Ah. More verbal jousting. Of course, this being Faramir. In a similar rage Boromir would have simply put his head down and charged me.

"Because I say so."

"Boromir should go first."

"You would offer up your older brother to be spanked in your place?"

"Not, '_in my place,'_ as you say, no," he grumbled, refusing to be baited. "But I wouldst respectfully relinquish _first_ place to Boromir. For he is not only my older brother, he is the Steward of Gondor, and he deserves the honor of being first in line regardless of the particulars."

Classic Faramir. I fought a smile.

"Damrod, I could indeed go first."

I was so startled to hear Boromir's murmur that I could do naught but turn to him. He peered back at me, as though once again startled by his own actions. But I reckoned this wasn't so surprising after all. With the exception of one small slip, Boromir had controlled himself admirably thus far. But he had finally, and no doubt briefly, lost his focus. He knew there was only one way to help his little brother. Boromir had to be the bigger brother today, the older brother, the stronger brother. He had to have the courage to be quiet, and to wait and to grant Faramir what he really wanted most. In his fragile temperament Faramir would never have been able to sit still while Boromir was spanked first. And Faramir's need was greater. It was why we were here. A moment later Boromir remembered all that. And he remembered to whom he was speaking.

"I – I . . . forgive me," Boromir quickly said. "I . . . I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry, sir."

I studied him. His gaze held a quiet clarity, an understanding that settled any remaining misgivings I had about his restraint.

"_I have never doubted that he's as safe in your arms as he is in mine,"_ Boromir had once told me after witnessing me spank Faramir. "_No matter how loudly he yells, I know he is alright."_

_"This little one can yell quite loudly indeed,"_ I had said gazing down at Faramir asleep in my arms.

"_But 'tis never a fear-filled sound, just an unhappy one. A most unhappy one. The same most unhappy sound he makes when I'm spanking him."_

Aye, Boromir would be all right no matter what happened. I gave him a nod and said, "Accepted. Thank you. But I shall tolerate no further interruptions, little boy. Behave yourself. And I shall attend to you soon."

As he had since childhood, Boromir had a tendency towards blushing and his face betrayed him now, a rosy hue creeping forth. Satisfied, I turned my attention back to Faramir, who shared his big brother's talent for coloring quickly. But little brother's current flush was due to his emotions running wild, just as they were the last time we fought, high passion making him reckless. This would likely be a short battle.

I had trained my boys and they were superior warriors, but neither had ever won a fight with me. Of course, Boromir had been in his rash teen years when he had last challenged me, but Faramir still occasionally decided he would rather not be spanked and needed some convincing. Fair enough. The outcome of such a skirmish was ever the same, which was surely comforting to my lad, as he knew he was safe to hold nothing back. Aside from more years of experience, I had a larger build than Faramir, similar to Halbarad's, and I was taller than Boromir, who was, in turn, taller than his little brother.

They sometimes looked to be the same height, for, when standing beside his brother Faramir would stiffen his back, stretch himself up and try to stand extra tall, whilst Boromir, aware of what his little brother was doing, would lean his weight back on one leg and purposely slouch a bit, diminishing his height to the degree that Faramir sometimes actually looked taller than Boromir. It was delightful. But, despite his smaller size, Faramir gave a good account of himself, and I was proud of his efforts to lay me out.

"_I know you're trying to be nice,"_ Faramir had once muttered whilst laying in my arms during a fragile post-spanking moment. "_But 'tis vexing to hear you say things like, 'good boy,' and 'I am proud of you, my little bairn,' when I am trying to pummel you into the ground."_

_"Is it?"_ I said, grinning at his directness.

"_Uh-huh. I don't like it."_

_"I see. Well, I am sorry to hear that it upsets y–"_

_"No! It-It doesn't really, reeeally 'upset' me . . . I-I guess."_ He frowned up at me in puzzled innocence. "_But, well, why do you do it?"_

_"Because you are being a good boy, and I am proud of you."_

"Come," I now said, watching him seethe at me. "Enough of this, my little bairn."

Faramir flinched at the sound of the special name I had given him as a child, the name my beloved, ancient grandfather had bestowed upon me. I had not called Faramir 'little bairn' since that day in the woods. And now he paused and stared at me, spellbound, as though from some far distant place, his gaze so vacant and distracted that I wondered if he might choose to submit without a fight. Such was not what I preferred. I waited.

But, though shaken, Faramir quickly recovered. He blinked back a sheen of tears and my trapped warg returned, scowl firmly intact. Ahh, this was better.

"You have until the count of five to come here." And I clicked my fingers again and pointed to a spot right before me. Counting was another indignity my boys found insufferable. I briefly wondered if Halbarad counted. Or Aragorn. Or Legolas. Or Garrick. I was fond of counting as it rarely failed to initiate an instant response. Indeed, a small garbled sound from Faramir warned of an impending explosion.

"NO! You shall not count to five, sir!" he exclaimed. "I forbid it!" And he punched his clenched fist straight down towards the floor for emphasis. He had perfected that move at the age of four and it now challenged my composure. A most unsuitable place to burst out laughing, this.

"Aye. You are right," I said. "A count of three is sufficient. One . . . ."

Faramir clenched both fists this time and punched them towards the floor. "Stop!" he bellowed. "Stop that counting at once, lieutenant! That is an order!"

He was in such a state I considered putting him out of his misery and skipping straight to three. Boromir made a small indefinable noise, but that was all. I felt a surge of pride in him.

"Two."

Speechless at last Faramir stared at me, eyes huge, mouth slightly open as though he hoped something brilliant would burst forth. Impossible, of course, for him to come stand on that spot before me. And so I had been merciful when reducing my count to:

"Three."

I was across the room before Faramir could draw his next breath. He gasped and flinched and flew into action, able at last to have at me. I usually grappled with him long enough to let him expel some of his wild fury whilst leaving him enough stamina for his spanking. But sometimes I permitted him to fight only long enough to be able to tell himself that he did not go quietly. I wanted that wild fury intact when I held him down over my knee. So Faramir's needs determined the length of our tussle, and I decided what he needed most. He oft disagreed with my decision of course. More than once he had roared at me when I picked him up and carried him kicking and squirming from our field of battle to where I was about to spank him.

"_Nooooo!"_ he would bellow. "_Nooo! Sto – don't – Damr – put me down! I'm not done fighting! I-I'm not ready to be spanked!"_

_"Thank you for informing me of that, little one. Allow me to inform you in return that what you are and are not ready for bears no weight. I am done fighting, and so are you, and there's an end to it."_

Today I wanted to match our experience in the woods as closely as possible. Thankfully, that had been a short fight. Concerned for Faramir's healing state, I did not want this to go on for long.

As he did that day, Faramir dodged my attack and came at me, and within moments I realized that I need not have feared for any of the breakables. There had been no breakables in the woods of Ithilien, and, to my astonishment, Faramir was, by memory, duplicating his every move to our last fight. I could scarce believe it. As he initiated each move I remembered it, too. What made it even more astounding was that I was certain Faramir had no awareness of what he was doing. He looked removed, dazed, as though listening to a distant, familiar tune, something quite beyond himself spurring him on.

Incredible. I felt oddly exhilarated by the strangeness of this. I felt like turning to Boromir and saying, 'do you know what your brilliant little brother is doing?'

Faramir reproduced his previous performance near to the heartbeat, meaning that he was just as ineffective. Mine had been a defensive role, so I simply responded as I had that day. I changed only the force involved, trying to keep within the framework of memory, yet softening the impact of the fighting to allow for his yet healing injuries, catching him in my arms ere he hit the floor.

He even left the openings for me to slip in those comforting rituals I forced upon him to slow him down, letting me utter the praises he could scarce allow himself to enjoy as much as he did and claimed were aggravating. So, as before, in the proper moments, I grabbed him, or held him down tightly, murmuring, "_I am proud of you, little bairn,"_ or, "_Good boy,"_ even, "_You are growing too frantic, sir. Settle down. Think."_ And he struggled in the same way, muttering exasperated growls and whimpers until I released him at the right moment and let him scramble up and come at me again.

Once, when I was holding him and murmuring to him, Boromir was in my direct line of vision and I glanced up – a quick check on my other good boy. He was staring at us, mesmerized, as though he knew he was witnessing something quite beyond understanding. But he was as calm as could be expected whilst watching his little brother getting on so poorly.

Suddenly all was quiet and Faramir was simply standing there, panting slightly, watching me with an expectant look – we were done. We had reached the point wherein I'd had enough fighting that day and ended it. Ah. At last. I thought for a moment, then I stalked his way repeating my former statement, word for word. "Enough of this, little bairn. We have serious matters to discuss."

I scooped Faramir up, getting a good grip on him as he had a gift for writhing he now fully employed, and carried him to the bed where I sat and carefully turned him over my knee, clamping one arm over his back and the other just beneath his bottom. I held him secured for a long moment, letting him feel his place. Delightful that I had done this that day in Ithilien to calm him after our fight! The feel of his weight over my lap once again warmed my heart beyond all reason. Faramir gasped and huffed, but stayed amazingly motionless. I held him, waiting, and when he stopped panting I began pulling up his shirt. The moment Faramir could move he exploded into frenetic writhing, so I gave him several hard swats over his breeches to get his immediate attention.

A pause, then he became even wilder, actually trying to push himself up off my lap. And suddenly I knew what had set him off. Inwardly cursing my memory, I pulled down his breeches, bared his rounded backside then repeated my solid swats. They cracked through the silent room, that distinctive smack, skin striking skin, a shocking echo when in an enclosed place. And now, as I had recalled and followed the proper order, Faramir calmed enough for me to lift his shirt, pull his breeches further down past his knees, close his legs under my right one and tuck him firmly against me, my arm pressing down over his back. And from here on we would begin anew. Our day in the woods would end, and Faramir would not be allowed to determine our heading.

I hadn't known exactly what to expect today, but I planned to keep things as normal as they had ever been when I was spanking Faramir, staying close to the familiar rituals I had established over time – start out with some strong swats to get things going, then ease off into whatever pace and strength was necessary to make certain that he could last until all matters had been resolved and he was thoroughly attended to. I knew just how much spanking both my boys could withstand. Faramir would need to tolerate quite a bit today. He would remain stretched out over my lap until this rift between us was completely mended.

I rested my hand on his sweet bottom, feeling the surprisingly soft skin quiver and a shudder course through him. Warmth surged throughout me. Perfect. I lifted my hand.

End part 9  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	10. Chapter 10

**Foster Father of the Heart – part 10**  
by Larrkin

"OWWWWWWWW!"

Had I said that? No. I'd bellowed it. And with good reason. Damrod's opening swats were always awful, but at the moment I feared my enthusiastic lieutenant had forgotten an important fact concerning disciplinary procedure – if you begin spanking at a high level of intensity you leave yourself with no place further to go. Surely just an oversight on his part, so I felt compelled to remind him of this fact, but my reminder came out as:

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Faramir, if you start out yelling that loudly you shall have no place further to go," Damrod said.

I groaned. Ohhh, this was going to be a very long ordeal. But, since he opened the door – "Damrod, if you start out spanking that hard you shall have no place further to go!"

A low chuckle. "Ahhh, there's my insolent boy!"

But he did slow, easing back to his customary vile spanking level. I blinked. Reasoning with him like this worked? I should've tried it long ago.

"Before you start congratulating yourself overmuch, little one, I changed my course because we are, indeed, at the beginning of a very long spanking. We have much to address and you shall needs conserve your energy. So, now that I have your attention – "

"But you already had my attention!" I cried.

"Did I?"

Yes! I nearly yelled, badly distracted by his threats of a long spanking, but then . . . wait, how exactly did I end up here? Oh, yes . . . Damrod and I were fighting, and then – no, wait . . . that was another fight, another day, that day in Ithilien – NO! No, I didn't want to think about that fight. Or that day. I-I couldn't think about it. I had enough to think about right now.

And right now, today's fight was about . . . today. It was about the sewers. But why would I fight Damrod about that? Boromir and I knew that we would be facing certain doom. We sanctioned it, so why had I fought . . . ? I was missing something here. I went back over it, struggling to focus whilst Damrod spanked and spanked me and my intensely heated backside kept distracting me.

Boromir and I were in trouble. We knew we shouldn't be doing what we were doing but we had done it nonetheless. Then Damrod came to our rescue as he ever had, as we knew he would . . . .

Damrod, always there, pulling me from whatever disaster had crept up on my unsuspecting, innocent self despite my attempts to avoid it. Damrod's opinion oft differed from mine concerning my unsuspecting, innocent nature, and my lieutenant was generally proven to be right in the end. So this was a familiar position for me, although instead of this coverlet beneath my face, I was usually gazing down at the cloak Damrod had draped over whatever seat his patroness, Nature, had provided him. My lieutenant had a gift for finding perches of the perfect size out in the wild, easily seeking them out ever since I was sixteen and Boromir was twenty-one and Denethor had dispatched me from Minas Tirith to live amongst my Rangers in Ithilien.

"_Go,"_ my father had said. "_Get thee hence. Ithilien will be yours to command when you come of age. Go then, sir, and live there amongst your Rangers."_

Blessedly, neither Boromir nor Damrod had been present for that one-sided conversation. Denethor was delighted to send me far from his sight as soon as he could do so without raising too many eyebrows. And after living under his constant disapproval for sixteen years, escaping to the wilds of Ithilien with Damrod as my guardian was a blessing. The only terrible aspect was terrible indeed – it separated Boromir and me. And I felt that such was exactly what Denethor desired.

The cruelty of living apart was bitter indeed for Boromir and I. We had ever had each other, sharing Damrod as a mentor. But over the years our father could not help but become aware of the powerful bond between his sons and a certain second lieutenant, and he soon began seeing to it that Damrod spent long months carrying out duties that took him far from Minas Tirith, even at times, far from Gondor. Of course, Denethor cared not if I was close to Damrod, but Boromir? Unthinkable! So, during my early-teen days when Damrod was made scarce, Boromir had filled in with his own unconditional big-brotherly love and discipline.

I shouldered a burden of guilt concerning my brother's fate as our father's favorite. Although in effect exiled from my home, I had been sent forth with Damrod and his devoted guardianship. Boromir didn't have that. I'd never asked him, but I felt certain that the last spanking Damrod had given my brother when he was twenty and tried to climb the Tower of Ecthelion was Boromir's last spanking; until he was reunited in Rivendell with a certain Ranger who had gone by the name of 'Thorongil,' and who had, since their reunion, been making up for lost time with Boromir over his knee.

But when left without Damrod's affectionate care and guidance my brother had decided to adapt to that loss by perfecting himself beyond the need to be disciplined. That way he wouldn't suffer so profoundly from the absence of it. Though I understood his reasoning, I tried to avoid thinking about the bleakness of Boromir's grim existence – never with much success, for my brother and I had been devoted to each other, and I ached for him. And I often wondered which one of us had actually been born into a position of privilege.

Still, despite feeling fortunate with my outcome, there was ever a place within me that longed for . . . well, something . . . .

Eternally aware, seeing everything, Damrod once told me, "_Faramir, what I can give you does not replace your longing for your father's love and approval. When you look at Denethor and Boromir together you cannot help the yearning you feel and the ache that invades your heart. 'Tis wholly understandable, and in no way makes you ungrateful. You can enjoy what you do have and still ache for that which you do not have._

_"And, as to your brother's fate, your compassion does you credit, little bairn, for he has surely had to pay a high price for his well-being, and of course that touches you deeply. But remember, staying behind in Minas Tirith has never been the hardship for Boromir that it would be for you. His experience of your father is vastly different from your own."_

_"Not always, Damrod."_

_"Nay, not always. But most of the time your brother is indeed enjoying Denethor's devotion, and you must draw what comfort you can from that. Brooding on those times when Boromir suffers will change nothing, no more than his brooding for your sake will change anything when he sees Denethor abusing you."_

He was right, but it didn't stop my 'Boromir brooding,' as Damrod called it. So, at his suggestion, once a month Damrod and I reported to my father in Minas Tirith and those were joyous times for Boromir and m –

"AHHHHHHHH! OWWWWWWW! AHHHHHH!"

"You know better than to journey off like that," Damrod said, dreadfully calm for a man now spanking me at twice the speed as before. "Come back here, my little bairn."

"AHHHHHHHH! Where the stars do you think I-I ammmm?"

"I have no idea where you went, sweetling, but you were not in this room with me."

"AHHHHH Damrod! Pleeeeease! AHHHH! I-I'm sorrryyyy!"

"Where had you wandered in your mind?"

"I-I-dunnnoo-uuuuhh – home! I-I m-mean Ith-Ithilien!"

He paused, leaving me gulping and quivering and clinging to my last shreds of control, tears tight in my throat, eyes blurring, my bottom stinging.

"When? At what time?"

I scrambled for an answer and finally had to blurt, "No time, I mean, any time, all times, always and forever time, I-I-I don't knowwwww."

"I see," he said, giving my back a slow rub. "Random journeying, were we?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Alright, little one. I understand. Nevertheless, you are to stay here."

SWAT!

"OWWW! Yes, sir! S-Sorry!"

"I shall do my best to convince you to do so."

Oh no. I tightened. I braced. All those things one should never do, I did. And, as he had rightly said, I knew better. "AHHHHHHHHHH! OWWW! Damr – AHHHHH!" Ohhh, each smack burned and burned! I lost control and flung my hand back, palm up, fingers splayed over my bottom.

Now, this always goes beyond all reason. I know what Damrod will do next, and he did it. "Allow me to attend to this problem for you, my bairn," he said in his softly scolding voice, and he clasped my wrist in his big paw, gently and firmly drew my hand up and pressed it against my back. Flawless execution of a well-established move followed by a few of his extra hard 'that was naughty, little boy' swats.

"Much better," he murmured, now picking up where he left off. "There shall be no covering up this pretty little bottom."

I shouldn't have to endure that kind of revolting language from anyone! But Damrod was not just anyone, as he was ever pleased to remind us and as we were ever satisfied to acknowledge. I buried my face in the crook of my free arm and finally did the one thing left open to me: I burst into tears.

My hand and my attention now secured, Damrod once again began spanking me in earnest, and in utter, eloquent silence. Quite rude of him, but it was ever Damrod's way. Some time ago I had given up asking him my standard, "_Why do you demand my attention if you aren't going to talk to me?"_ for he always gave me the same answer: "_I require your attention, little one. I do not wish to talk to you."_

And then he would claim that his hand spoke for him, which was appallingly true, for Damrod had ever been fluent in this particular language, saying much whilst speaking not a word. And Valar help me if my mind drifted off, trying to escape the reality of my flaming bottom. He knew. Ohh, he knew.

"_He can't know!"_ I had complained to my brother a few days after one of the many intense tannings Damrod had given me over the years. "_How can he know, Boromir?"_

_"He simply does, little brother."_

_"I should have challenged him on it!"_

A quizzical glance. "_You mean you didn't?"_

_"Well . . . no. I mean, well . . . yes, as a matter of fact, I did."_

He chuckled. "_I vow that was well received."_

Actually, no, it wasn't well received at all. Arguing with Damrod regarding his Dúnedain insights into my thoughts or feelings or behaviors had never gone over well. We both knew that he was unfailingly accurate, so he quite justly viewed any such argument of mine as an attempt to provoke a distracting debate that might keep my mind off my backside . . ."_How can he know, Boromir?" "He simply does, little brother."_

He was Damrod. Our Damrod. And he was like the stone walls of Minas Tirith – there was no getting around him, through him or over him. Nothing knocked him down.

Well, fine then. If he had nothing to say, I would have nothing to say. I could be just as stubborn as he could. Stubborner. Most stubborner . . . although . . . something about that, something about the notion of defying Damrod with silence whilst I lay over his knee fired an icy chill through my limbs, ending somewhere in the region of my heart . . . utterly curious thing to have happen when Damrod was spanking the daylights out of me.

"ULP! Wha – ?"

I was being picked up and shifted around! What in the -? Damrod expertly swept my legs out from under his and stretched me out over his lap. And now, with my legs free – ohhhhh, I could kick! Ohhhh, blessed freedom! I lifted my head and gave my legs a stiff jerk to stretch them out, wondering what good boy thing I had done to deserve –

"Noooo, wee beastie, you are not being rewarded for good behavior. I fear I have yet to see any good behavior to reward," Damrod said in a calm tone that made me gulp. Oh no. "I simply needed to have access to - this." WHAP!

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" I jerked and squirmed, breathless, struggling to writhe away from that burning hand! "PLEEA-NOOOO! No, Damrod, pleeeease! Not there! AHHHH! No-no-not back therrrrre!"

How I hated having that curve under my bottom spanked! Sly, wicked man! Freeing me, all clever-like, then tipping his leg up and exposing that vulnerable place and, and – oh, 'twas just plain devious!

"OWWWWW! AHHHHH!" I tried to wriggle and buck, little good it did me. Nothing interfered with Damrod's flawless aim and he just whacked harder if I carried on too much, adding the offhand, soft admonishment.

"You have never had much tolerance for this," he said, tucking me closer. "But, my mere warnings were plainly failing as you had strayed off yet again on another of your journeys. Clearly you were seeking more from me."

"Noooooooo I-I wasn't-noo-I-I wasn't seek – m-more! Sorry, sorry, sorrryyy, D-Damrod!"

"Hush, sweetling. I understand. And I am ever more than happy to give you what you need."

"I-I need you to stop!"

He sniffed a chuckle and didn't slow a mite. "You _want_ me to stop. Hardly the same thing."

No? 'Twas a mighty fine distinction in my opinion, though I sensed this was not the time to argue the finer points of conversation with him. "P-Please stop! Damrod, please, please, p-pleeeeeeeease, stop, stop, s-stop! I-I'll be g-good! I will!"

"Very well. We shall try again." He lowered his leg. I wept a few frantic little sobs, but his spanking hand returned to my hot bottom and those frantic little sobs became big sobs. It was less awful, but it was still very bad indeed.

I coughed and shuddered, weeping into the coverlet and trying my best to remain attentive whilst Damrod went on relentlessly spanking me, leaving his massive paw prints all over my burning bottom and showing off his detestable stamina. Oh, the man was just getting started. I writhed; I strained my legs out straight; I kicked down onto the bed; I balled the coverlet into my fist so tightly my hand ached, and finally –

He suddenly halted. "Faramir."

"Whaaa?"

"Stop that."

"Auuuwwbb whaaaa?"

"Stop biting the coverlet. Spit it out, sir. As I've told you each time I've caught you trying to distract yourself by gnawing a hole through my cloak, your weeping sounds different when muffled by a mouthful of cloth. I do not need to see you doing it to know you're doing it. And I won't have it. So – "

"Spit." WHAP! "It." WHAP!

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Out." WHAP! "Very good." WHAP!

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Sorrryyyyy! Sorry, sorry, s-sorryyyyy!"

"I should think so. Again, you know better, little bratling. Any more of that and my hand will revisit that special curve beneath your-"

"Nooooooo! I won't d-do it again, sir! No b-biting the b-bed! P-Promise! I-I won't!"

"Then if you are quite finished with your naughty antics, let us continue."

And continue he did. And all I could do was lay there, stay alert, not journey off in my mind, not bite the coverlet and, with the few remaining shreds of my dignity, take what was blossoming into one of my lieutenant's finest moments in the chronicles of Faramir spanking. Crying, that I could do, and that I did.

When Damrod is at last ready to talk I am usually long past the point of defiance. I'm eager to be fully obliging and grateful for any conversation to help take my mind off my throbbing bottom. My lieutenant, the ever-brilliant strategist.

"Ready to discuss a few things, my little bairn?"

"Yes, s-sir!"

Oh, yes, yes, yes! I was even ready to love hearing that cherished name he'd given me when I was four and he was cuddling me on his lap after my first spanking from him - a mere five swats in all - but my wee backside stung and my little boy tongue lisped with distress, unable to so much as manage his name:

"_What's a-a 'bairn,' Dam-mod?"_

A soft chuckle, then: "_You are. It means 'child.' Or little boy."_

_"Am I . . . am I y-your little boy, D-Dammod?"_

_"Never doubt it, sweetling."_

"Ready! Yes, D-Dam-mod! W-Wanna talk now," I stammered, starting things off with what I hoped sounded as sincere as I felt. "Ready to say sorrrrry! 'B-Bout the sewers – I'm so sorry, sorry, sor – "

"Faramir. Stop," he said.

He didn't often use my name during a spanking . . . well, no, he used it often enough but when he did use it he did it for emphasis. He already had my full attention, and yet I froze, a fresh jolt of anxiety shooting through me. Damrod halted his swats, resting his hand on my bottom, rubbing the burning surface and sending hot shivers racing along my limbs.

"No, little one. We are not going to talk about that. Not yet. We have something else to discuss first."

Something other than the sewers? Something . . . first? I blinked. I stared off. Every muscle tensed. "Wh-What else . . . f-first?"

"Faramir, did you expect to be spanked for the mischief you and your brother got into this day?"

"U-Uh-huhhh. Y-Yessssir."

"Then tell me, when I came into the room, why were you so angry, my little bairn?"

I flinched. "W-Wha – ?"

"You became angry the moment I walked in the door. I want to know why you were angry enough to stage a tantrum, then attack me."

Why? I lay there, tighter than a drawn bow, backside on fire and a sharp panic exploding through me. And nothing, not one single thought occurred to me.

SWAT! "AHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Answer me, little one. Why?"

Answer him? How . . . ? I answered in the only way I could: "I-I-I D-Dammod, I dunnnooo!"

"Very well," he said with genial acceptance, and he started spanking me again.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Forgive me. My mistake. I thought you were ready to talk, but apparently you need more convincing."

"NOOOO! AHHH! Dam-mod pleeease! I-I don't! I don't need m-more con-con – "

"Shhh, 'tis all right, sweetling. No rush. I can keep this up as long as is needed. And when you feel ready – "

"B-But, readdyyyy!" I wailed. "I'm r-ready now, D-Dammod! I aaamm!"

Another pause, more rubbing, and a patient tone above me repeating: "Very well, little one. Go on."

I lay breathless and quivering and astounded to admit that I still had nothing to say! Think, Faramir, think! But all I could think about was my sore bottom and the feel of Damrod's strong thighs under my stomach and the familiar, firm grasp of his big palm encircling my wrist and how goooood his other big palm felt rubbing my hot skin–

"Faramir."

I jerked. Oh no. Oh no,no,no.

"I am waiting, little boy."

And with a good deal more forbearance than usual, I was delighted to note.

"Must I start counting again, my bairn?"

"Noooo!"

"One."

"I-I-I f-forgot the ques – "

"Faramir."

"I did!"

"Nay, sir, you did not." His hand left my bottom again, and I felt his arm, hovering over my fiery backside, waiting. "Tell me what my question is."

"WHY!" I spat out. "I mean, 'w-why' is your question! You want to know wh-why I was angry."

"Ah. Very good, sweetling. And?"

His hand settled softly on my bottom again, and I shook with relief, but also with dread, because I was no better off than I was before. I was still confused and mystified and lost and I – I couldn't find the words! No words. Not a one. And it was awful. Why couldn't I think this through? A shadowy dread built and built and built and it closed off my throat until now I felt I couldn't speak even if I did have the words.

But it wasn't Damrod I was afraid of. No, of course not. Not our Damrod. I didn't like this spanking, but I wasn't afraid of this man I loved. I was afraid of feeling so confused and mystified and lost, so . . . outside myself. Bad. This was very, very bad.

'Why?' he asked me. Why. I had no answers. I had no where to turn within me. I had no where to go outside me. And my first thought was to seek out Boromir. Where was my big brother? He was here. I felt him here, large and silent and in this room with me. Just turn and look. Over there. He's right over there. Turn and see him and it might help quiet this big, loud, scary, bad, bad blankness.

But I couldn't turn and look at Boromir, see his sad face. He would have his sad face on, and that would only make this awfullness worser, and it was worser enough. No, even my big brother couldn't help me –

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! N-Nooooooo! D-Dam-mod! AHHHHHH!"

"Talk to me, little one. I see you thinking. Think aloud. I want to hear that uproar you are listening to inside your muddled little head."

Each spank stung and burned and I braced and gulped huge breaths and closed my eyes. Oh help,help,help! How to make it stop . . . how to get away . . .!

Very well. Yes. Alright. I knew how. And I had to do it. Had to. I could do it. I had done it before. Hard, so hard. But, yes, I could do it. And I had won before. Shh, quiet, Faramir, go quiet inside, don't feel anything, shhhhh, still and quiet, shhhhh . . . .

"Nay. Not this time, sweetling."

Damrod's kind, tolerant voice. He didn't stop spanking me of course. Not yet. Not right away. But Damrod would stop. He would. He would have to. He had stopped before. I made him stop before. I'd make him stop again. And this was how I'd done it. I could do it . . . go limp, Faramir, go quiet, shhhhhhh, pretend I wasn't here, just like before, shhhhh . . . .

"Hear me, Faramir. Not this time. I shall not allow it. Stay here. Talk to me, little bairn. Let me help you."

Ow . . . Ow . . . Ow . . . Ow . . . limp, Faramir, limp and quiet and shhhhhhh . . . .

"Perhaps you think that you and Boromir are being judged too harshly for what happened today."

Limp and quiet and . . . my eyes popped open. What?

"Perhaps you think that what happened today was unimportant. None were killed, nor badly injured."

What? Well, uuhhhh . . . no. I squirmed. I might be feeling dazed, but I knew the difference between right and wrong and what Boromir and I had done was a very big wrong and so, yes, what had happened today was a very big important thing.

"Perhaps you think that neither one of you should be spanked for what happened today."

Now, these questions were just plain stupid. "Nooooo, Dammod! I-I mean, yes! B-Big, import-tant . . . of c-course . . . should be sp-span– "

"Ahhh, I understand. You think Boromir should be spanked, but not you. You think your brother alone should accept all responsibility for what happened today."

"WHAT?"

"Fair point. Boromir devised the plan, or so he says. Boromir countermanded Aragorn's orders, or so he says. You merely followed along like a good little brother. Aye, perhaps you should be excused responsibility for what happened today."

Of all the stupid, stupid – ! I reared up and kicked, too furious to form words.

"Is that how it is, my bairn? Is Boromir the only one responsible? Shall I tumble you from my lap right now and place your brother here – "

"NOOOOOOOOOOO! OWWWWWWWW!"

"Mind your tone, sir."

"S-Sorry! But-But-But nooooo, D-Dammod, nooooo! I-I-I deserve it, too! I'm to bl-blame, toooooo!"

"Then you do indeed think you deserve to be spanked for what happened today?"

"Y-Yes, sir! D-Deserve . . . spank an-an s-spanked, lot of – "

"Very well. If you truly believe you deserved to be spanked, then we are back to my question. Why were you angry enough to pick a fight with me?"

I huffed and kicked. Trapped! Vile, vile man! Vile, brilliant lieutenant! And he kept repeating the same phrase, over and over – " _. . . for what happened today . . . what happened today . . . what happened today."_ Did he think I needed to be reminded what day this was and what had happened today? And would he never, ever stop spanking meeeee? I kicked some more and wailed into the bedding.

"Faramir. Stop that at once. Answer me. Why?"

"But – AHHH! I-I don't kno . . . w-wait! The-The papers! Th-The bad papers kept s-slipping and falling and it-it was the m-messy, n-naughty papers!"

I paused. '_Messy, naughty papers?'_ I sounded absurd! I was melting into nonsense-talk, as I had with Aragorn and Legolas and my brother – my mind no longer connecting to my mouth. Did all who found themselves in this position dissolve into little boy-speak? Did my brother? I reckoned I'd soon find out.

"Nay, sweetling. You cannot blame the naughty papers. Your anger surfaced the moment you saw me. 'Twas that anger created the mess, not the other way around. So why –"

"Dammod, pleeease, I-I-I dunnoooooooooooo!"

"Then we shall be here a long time, little one. And that's fine with me, for I have missed spanking your pretty bottom."

"AHHHHHHHH!"

I burst into fresh tears, snuggling my face into my arm. Wretched man! To be fair, though, at no time had this wretched man been harsh. Damrod had been firm and he had been relentless, but he had been courteous and patient, as indeed he always was. And he was showing me more tolerance at the moment than I deserved. He would help me if he could, but I-I couldn't . . . couldn't -

My panic surged, and I felt myself slipping into that eerie, disoriented place again. It was like before, like when Damrod came into the room and stood there watching us and something savage burst inside me and I was suddenly enraged! And I couldn't tell him why I was so furious because I didn't understand that fury, why it was there or where it came from. I'd watched myself doing those things from outside my body, and there was no 'why' to it. Terrifying, that feeling of being controlled by some mysterious force. Terrifying.

And I couldn't tell Damrod such a half-witted thing. I felt foolish, weak, frustrated and baffled – what was I doing grasping all those stupid papers? But Damrod stood there, so wise and collected and big and unstoppable, he stood there, gazing levelly at me, and I suddenly saw that I could release all that rage, because Damrod was there, that extraordinary presence was there . . . no getting around our Damrod. No, not ever . . . except for, well, except . . . except for that one time, that bad, bad time in . . . in Ithilien –

No! No thinking of that!

I lifted my head and roared, "Stop spanking meeeeeee! You're a lieutenant, D-Damr-rod! You don't outrank m-me and you don't tell me what to do and you don't tell my b-big brother what to do!"

Silence. And Damrod did stop. Then:

"Rank has no place here, little boy. There is a fundamental state, a deeper truth that eternally supplants rank and privilege. There is no overlord to love."

I squeezed my eyes shut, tumbling backwards through my mind, back to a time and place I never wanted to think about, something I'd worked hard to keep buried . . . . But the fog blanketing that clearing in the Ithilien woods lifted, and it kept lifting and lifting, making me look. And I began to see, began to remember . . . .

I shook my head, furious little shakes back and forth, back and forth. "No,no,no," I muttered, over and over. My body shuddered and I bucked and kicked and bounced at the same time, catching Damrod by surprise. He grabbed me and held me down, and I couldn't move. But I could bellow.

"Whyyy?" I wailed. "Why didn't you say that then, Dammod? That bad, bad day! Why din't you tell me the big true thing that day in Ith-Ith-lili-nan?"

"Faramir," he said in a firm, calm tone. "I did."

I froze.

"I did tell you the big true thing that day in Ithilien. Think back. See it as it was. Go on. Go back and find out. Now. You are safe, sweetling. I am here. Remember little bairn . . . remember . . . ."

End chapter 10  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


	11. Chapter 11

**Foster Father of the Heart – part 11**

"No, I-I-I caan't Dammod! No! Don't wanna remem-"

"Aye, you can. You just did. You remembered the same strategy you used that day, little boy."

I gazed off, thinking . . . he was right.

"You remembered that strategy well enough to try it again." And Damrod didn't sound the least bit pleased about that. "Is that not so?"

I nodded slowly, thoroughly mortified. But then, Damrod's gentle voice was back:

"I understand, sweetling. I will not permit it, but I understand. My point is, if you can remember the strategy you used that day, you can remember it all. So, go, my little bairn. Go see. I am always right here with you. Remember . . . remember . . . ."

I closed my eyes again and tumbled into Ithilien, the rays of milky sunlight spilling in shafts through the green, shadowy forest, the pines fragrant in the late afternoon stillness, so quiet. And there before me was my big lieutenant, leading me deeper into the wood, his broad back blocking my view of what lay directly ahead. I struggled to match his long strides, our footsteps softly muffled by the blanket of pine needles and tender grasses; and before long we came out of the woods and into a clearing Damrod had surely scouted out. Several fallen logs lay scattered at the ready. Excellent spot for a spanking. Ah, ever compliant Nature, still in league with my lieutenant.

Of course I knew why he'd brought me out here. No mistaking that look in his eye. I'd seen it often enough over the years. Damrod had finally reached his limit with me. It had only been a matter of time, really. He'd pulled me aside again and again to scold me for my foolishness and demand that I cease my unnecessary risk taking.

"_That was uncalled for, Faramir." "You could have been killed, and for nothing." "I'm telling you, sir, no more." "This wild behavior must stop at once." "I know you are distraught, and I sympathize. But trying to kill yourself is no answer to grief."_ And, at last, an ultimatum: "_Any more such recklessness and I shall do more than talk. Do not test me, little boy, else I promise you a spanking you shall remember well into the next age."_

And Damrod never made a promise he didn't keep. So it came as no surprise when he approached me back at the camp and said, "A word, if you please, sir. In private." I'd glanced around at the men setting up for the night, a few of them furtively returning my gaze. Bram actually cast me a tight-lipped frown. I'd turned back to Damrod, nodded and fallen into step behind him.

He was overreacting, of course. He hadn't even been there. But Bram had, and I'd noticed him talking quietly to Damrod shortly after my small band and I had returned from reconnoitering the area. When Bram finished speaking, Damrod had turned and looked directly at me with his horribly calm, '_I dare not touch you right now'_ stare, then he stormed off into the woods. Obviously he was imagining the situation to be worse than it was. Excessive alarm typical of my lieutenant.

To my way of thinking I'd been the perfect man to test the soundness of the decaying footbridge stretched over that gorge. What would Damrod have had me do? Send one of my Rangers across that ancient tattered structure? Risk one of my warriors? Out of the question, and I don't care how many men had volunteered. They all had, of course, all seven in my party. But I'd've been some pathetic commander if I'd allowed one of my men to endanger himself so. I was the smallest and lightest Ranger there, making me the best candidate to venture across first. And before the bridge had snapped apart and crashed down into the ravine I'd managed to scramble back and hurl myself at the cliff where Bram grasped my arms and pulled me up with such a huge yank I near became airborne.

So just why was Damrod upset?

I tarried now at the edge of the clearing and watched my lieutenant stride over to the log of his choice and halt. He removed his cloak and spread it over the rough bark, unfastened his sword belt and propped it up, then sat and turned to me with a stern expression.

"Faramir," he said, holding out a hand, "come here."

I stood very still, watching him. In part I longed to let myself cross that space between us, fall over his lap and soak in all the good Damrod could give me. But I paused, and I turned my gaze to the deepest shadows of the woods, and I allowed myself to think of my brother. My dead brother. The constant dull ache I kept barely subdued within me began to throb. What was I thinking? How could I consider feeling anything good when Boromir was no more?

I'd never again see my brother's broad smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I'd never again see that warm, fond look he gave me when he was proud of me. I would never again watch him ride at the head of a company of splendid warriors, the Horn of Gondor at his side. An inspiration, that was my big brother. I'd never again hear his sudden explosion of laughter or his teasing chuckle. I'd never again feel him give me a sharp swat of affection or tousle my hair, something I loved. I'd never get drunk with him again. I'd never again fall weeping into his embrace after he'd spanked me.

I'd never again be a little brother.

Awful. Awful. So awful. No, I could never feel good again, never. I didn't want to feel good. I hadn't yet decided if I even wanted to go on living. I'd been fast leaning on the side of joining Boromir.

But for Damrod. And now he would force me into accepting his comfort, into hope, into his sturdy arms where I had ever been healed and made to feel that all was well. Nothing was well. Nothing would ever be well again. My big brother was gone.

"Faramir."

No. I would not stand for this. I turned to my lieutenant, straightened, and said, "I refuse to submit, sir."

How surprised Damrod looked! I lifted my chin and gazed at him from a place devoid of all feeling.

He narrowed his eyes and studied me, calmly puzzled. "Why did you accompany me to this private place if you meant to refuse your much needed discipline, sir?" he asked with indulgent politeness.

I shrugged and replied, "I did not want to disgrace you in front of the men."

"The disgrace here, little boy, is your own."

My turn to be surprised, more than surprised. His words hurt. Damrod's voice had again been gentle, but those words ripped through me. My breathing quickened and I scrambled to find that devoid-of-all-feeling refuge again. "Nevertheless," I snarled, "you shall not be spanking me this day."

"That is not your choice to make, Faramir."

"You would not dare force me, sir."

"That is exactly what I intend to do."

I tightened my fists. "I remind you, lieutenant, that I am your captain. You do not outrank me. You shall cease this insubordinate behavior at once!"

"Rank has no place here, little boy. There is a fundamental state, a deeper truth that eternally supplants rank and privilege. There is no overlord to love."

I stood quivering. Such a raw and hurtful moment. There it was. The truth that was so big, so important that Boromir and I had in our childhood called it "the big true thing." I rarely needed to hear the big true thing spoken to me. It was a part of my mind and my heart. And Damrod was right.

But he would make me feel better when I wanted to feel tormented. He would force a healing upon me when I wanted to remain sick at heart. No, no, no. I . . . I hadn't just heard him say the big true thing. I wouldn't think of him saying it. He didn't say it. But I heard myself declare:

"That no longer applies."

Again, I'd surprised him. But only for a moment. Before I could blink Damrod shot to his feet and stalked towards me, saying, "Come then, sir. Convince me of that."

I did try. Rather, my lieutenant let me try, as he always did, allowing me a measure of dignity. In that moment, though, in that clearing, my rage and my refusal to be comforted overpowered any feelings of gratitude I might have felt for Damrod's sense of fairness.

I was never going to best my lieutenant. So, as could be expected, when he decided I'd used up enough energy in this pointless skirmish a subtle change took place in his handling of me and a determined glint entered Damrod's gaze signaling the end of our battle. I paused, watching him. And, once more, my imposing lieutenant came towards me.

"Enough now, little bairn. We have serious matters to discuss."

Damrod picked me up and carried me to the log and ooommph! Faster than I could draw a gasp I was over his knee, facing his cloak, his strong hands positioning my body over his lap, my clenching stomach writhing across his muscled thighs. I'd fought the whole way over and I still wriggled, so now he held me down, trying to calm me. Ever obedient to Damrod's wishes, I went perfectly still until he loosened his grip, and then I exploded again. At once he yanked down my breeches and WHAP! WHAP!

I lay still, eyes wide and staring, astonished by those hard smacks on my suddenly bare skin. My backside stung as it hadn't in a very long while. It was a familiar fire, though.

"I said enough," Damrod stated, still holding me firmly. "Stop this nonsense at once, little boy. Calm down."

I fumed at his order, but then, suddenly, I understood the gift I'd been handed. Damrod wanted me to calm? Very well, I would calm. I calmed. Oh, indeed I did. In fact, I began descending into a removed, far away place, something I'd never done before, and by the time Damrod started spanking me I was well on my way to being buried deep within a private shelter, a black corner within me.

Of course I felt him spanking me – ohhhhh, Damrod was indeed spanking me – but I refused to _feel_ him spanking me. I wasn't really there with him, and when Damrod began to talk I'd pulled so far away that I heard him only as one overhears a distant conversation, or a foreign language:

"Faramir." "Answer me, sir." "What did you do to deserve this spanking, little boy?" "I know you can hear me, Faramir." "Why are you over my knee?" "Very well, my stubborn bratling, I can wait." "Talk to me, little bairn." "I can keep this up longer than you can, my lad." "You shall eventually speak to me, sweetling, so why not spare your pretty bottom more of this?"

Lots of words like that, words and words and words, and I heard him, but I didn't listen. No bearing on me, all those words. I had no words to answer back. How could I answer Damrod when I was in that boat with my dead brother? Still. Silent. Entombed. Boromir and I, floating in that blue world.

Brief flashes threatened. Loathing of what I was doing, a long wailing inner cry to stop this abomination, to listen to that mild, loving voice, to let Damrod's wondrous comfort pour over me, to feel again, be safe again, alive again. Don't leave this beloved man hanging there, his words unacknowledged, his love refused. My Damrod, ignored. How could I do this to him?

Stop, Faramir. Just stop. Now. Rise from that black corner and run to him. Listen to him. Float back to his voice, back to his ready arms, back into my body . . . .

And then darkness clouded everything again. My Blue Vision of Boromir, dead in that boat returned, bringing the anguish and loneliness and the sense of what life would now be like without my cherished brother, forever and ever, gone, gone, gone. He was dead. That was Truth. That was Real. And in the end that Vision won, that blue world ending in black and black and black. I dwelt in that black, feeling nothing else, noticing how hot my backside was getting, but no. Don't care. Not really part of me. Nothing to do with me.

And that eerie separation from self helped keep me from feeling Damrod's quite thorough spanking. "_Hmm,"_ I thought. "_This burns."_ And that was all. Let it burn. And when Damrod tipped his leg up and spanked that tender place beneath the curve of my bottom, ohhhh, yes, I felt that, too. But I didn't care. Let it burn. Step back. Call up the Blue Vision. There. There it was. That was my dwelling place now. That blue world ending in blackness and drifting down river in an elven boat with my dead brother . . . .

I lay limp, quiet, detached, hating myself for hurting this man I loved. And I knew I was hurting him. I felt his hurt. I was fracturing an unspoken, mutual trust, savaging something precious and fragile and cherished by us both. Raw hatred of what I was doing. How could I treat him so cruelly? Raw hatred of myself. What kind of monster was I? Hateful, Faramir. My father was right. Yes, Denethor had been right about me all along. I was loathsome. An abomination. No right to Damrod's sweet solace. My poor Damrod. Wasting his noble efforts on the likes of me.

And on and on he spanked and talked, and on and on I didn't move and didn't make a sound, and my heart hurt, and hurt built upon hurt, and the blackness rolled overrrrrrrr meeeeeee . . . until –

He stopped. Damrod stopped. No. Damrod never stopped. Damrod never faltered. Damrod never retreated. Damrod never . . . .

But he did. And I lay there, panting, panicking from the strangeness of it, feeling his wretchedness, feeling it in the touch of his large, gentle hands rubbing circles on my back and over my throbbing bottom, hearing it in the sound of his slow, deep breathing.

He would start spanking me again. He would. But then Damrod murmured words I would never have believed he knew how to say:

"Enough. No more. I cannot bear to harm you, my little bairn. And harm you I shall, if I continue."

Shock. Pain burst within me, pain too big to fathom. In a moment I'd shatter into pieces. Could anything hurt this much? A deafening shriek filled my mind, screaming that it wasn't too late! Run to him!

But it was too late. It was.

"Come, sweetling," Damrod said, his voice low and heavy with sadness. "Faramir, come. Get up."

And in that moment the blackness swallowed me entirely. Agony. Excruciating heartache. I had done it. I had ripped myself from Damrod, from his solace and his everlasting forgiveness, his open arms and the sanctuary of his lap.

I – I was . . . alone. Alone. No Boromir. No Damrod. I was no one's little brother. I was no one's little bairn. I was . . . no one. All alone.

Had I ever suffered despair before? I thought I had, but no. No darker blackness than this, no greater torment. A bruise to my soul. And whilst I reeled from that shock another one hit, a fitting and horrific physical blow.

Damrod tenderly picked me up and stood me before him, holding me still, his big hands on my hips, steadying me. My legs trembled, but I stood there. I held. How did I do that? Stand like that? Leave the shelter of his lap like that? I shivered, cold, my body no longer stretched out over his, connected to his warmth. A wild desire shot through me – plunge back over his lap to safety! Do it! End this now!

But I stood, quivering, my gaze fastened on the ground. I felt Damrod studying my face. I couldn't look up, though, couldn't find in his eyes what I knew would be there. But through my lowered lashes I saw his hand rising, then felt him brush the tears from my cheeks. Ah. Yes, my face had been cold, too, so cold, so wet from my silent weeping.

I felt lightheaded. In a moment all would go black. I would lose my senses and my shaking legs would give way. I might have crumpled to the ground right then, but Damrod began seeing to me, dressing me, pulling my breeches up over my scalded bottom, belting on my sword, refastening my cloak, and then holding me again, his hands on my hips, his head lowered, sorrow pouring from him in great, heavy waves. I was ripping asunder, dying inside, and then I felt him move me back a step and he stood, still my big imposing Damrod, yet no longer mine.

"Come," he murmured. "We must go back."

Sickness rolled in my gut and a wrenching howl of grief rose within me:

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"No, what? What did your memory tell you, sweetling? Faramir! Come back to me. At once, sir!"

I burst into gasping sobs. "OhhhhhhhhDammod! OHHHHHHH!"

WHOOOSH! He swept me up into his powerful arms and grasped me close. My head swirled from the rush of movement, but I was back, back in this room, with him. And he felt real and true – but noooo! I-I didn't want – I needed to be over his lap! I writhed, trying to squirm my way back down across his knees.

"Dammod, nooooo! D-Don't stop! Pleeeeeeease! T-Take me back! P-Pleeeease take me b-back ov-ver your – "

"Shhhhh, Faramir. Hush! Hush, my little bairn! Enough. Listen to me," he said in his First Lieutenant Voice. "I shall put you back over my lap in a moment, sweetling. Indeed I shall. Be at ease. I am not finished spanking you. But you must settle first. You are too frantic. You shall make yourself ill, little boy. Now, hush. Shhhhh. Hush. Hold on to me. Breathe."

I obeyed, gulping in ragged breaths, surrounded by Damrod's scent and his presence, and he felt just the way he'd ever felt, large and steady and solid, the same nothing-could-knock-him-down Damrod. Unable to stop weeping, I buried my face against his shoulder and clutched fists full of his clothing and held on to him tightly, tightly, drinking in all that he was, as though starved for it, and listening to his repeated, rumbling words and soothing sounds.

"Shhhhhhh, little bairn, shhhhhhhhh. Goooood. Very good. Breathe. You are safe now. I have you. I shall continue spanking you soon, sweetling. No fears. We have not finished yet. You have much to answer for, and we shall see to it all. You shall go back over my knee, as soon as you can quiet. So shhhhhh . . . ."

Insane to listen to that and feel soothed. I nearly laughed at the notion. What idiot would welcome an assurance of more spanking from this man? Nevertheless, I didn't hesitate to stammer, "Th-Thank-thank y-you, Dam-mod, th-thank -"

"Shhhhhhhh."

Because it wasn't, of course, more spanking that I wanted. What I wanted, what I desperately needed, was everything Damrod's spanking represented, that miraculous richness between us too great to measure and impossible to describe, the bond shared by Damrod and I since I was four years old and big enough to dare face him with my little boy defiance. Oh – to be so close to the promise of that restored! How could I stop quivering with anticipation?

And so, finally, when I could form words, I stammered, "Y-Y-You did! Dammod, you diiiid say the b-big truthing! That bad d-day – you s-said it. You d-did!"

"Aye, little one. I know. I said the big true thing. Shhhhh. Be still now. Breathe."

Ugly memories exploded in my mind, the bad, bad things I had done and said that day. And I wanted all the bad things to be gone! Now! Now! Now! I felt desperate to tell him how sorry, how very, very sorry –

"Dammod, I-I'm sorr-sorr-"

"Nay," he quickly said. "None of that now. Quiet, sweetling. We have much to discuss, aye, and in a moment I shall let you speak, and all will be attended to. I promise. But for now, shhhhh. Hush, my little bairn."

I nodded against him and I wept and I knew that all would be well. Damrod heard me. Damrod knew. I felt his arms wrapped around my back, holding me close despite my trembling. And he rocked and purred his low nonsense words, the sound smoothing along my limbs. He promised that all would be attended to. How secure. How good. Damrod's promise. So much bigger than anything fearsome or threatening.

And when my breathing ceased its hitching and my limbs stopped shaking, Damrod kissed the side of my head and wordlessly eased me back down over his lap. Ohhh, just moving my throbbing bottom – ow! Ow, ow, owwww! But, ahhhhhhhhh! Damrod's lap, warm and sturdy under my stomach. He settled his wide palm over my bottom, the solid weight of it strangely comforting. A shudder raced through me. Oh no, oh no, oh noooooo! My poor backside!

Well . . . so be it. I pressed my face into the cold, damp coverlet, waiting, quivering. Damrod held still, letting the moment hum between us. There was so much I longed to tell him, and he probably didn't need to hear any of it. But he knew I needed to say it. And then, once more, I felt his hand leave my bottom and once again I saw it in my mind, raising up over my red, sore backside, up and up, just as it had before. Another lovely tremor shivered through me, then, Damrod's quiet, reasonable tone:

"Now, my little bairn, what have you to say?"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OWWWWWWW AHHHHHHHH!"

"Anything else?"

"Uh-huhhhhhh!"

But first I simply wailed into the coverlet again, a nice long bellow in response to what Damrod's fresh spanks felt like on my already hot bottom. These were no longer his strong swats, though. They were a bit lighter in feel . . . comfort spanking – steady, intense, quite meaningful, yet he was spanking at a slower pace that wouldn't leave me breathlessly sobbing and unable to speak.

Considering the spanking my brother had put me through ere the final march I should have been prepared for anything, but I've sadly discovered that the intensity of a former spanking doesn't lessen the intensity of what's happening in the here and now. I reached down and wrapped my arm around Damrod's leg and I held on and wept into the coverlet and squeezed it in my fist whilst he methodically spanked and spanked, allowing me a few moments to steady myself, holding me down, his reassuring arm pressing over my back as a reminder of his determination to keep me anchored right where I was.

"Let me help you, sweetling," he finally said. "Returning to my question, why were you so angry when I came in?"

And this time I did have an answer, at least I thought I did, and I hurried to tell him. "I didn't want to think about that b-bad day, about the day in Ith-Ithlenneenin."

"Ithilien," he said, a smile in his voice, "and no need to struggle with that word again. I shall know what day you mean and where we were. Go on."

"I-I was mad 'bout that day, and . . . no, not mad, sad. I was so s-sad, and, that sadness became a big mad feeling. Mad at . . . I-I – "

In part I cringed, hearing myself. I sounded perfectly ridiculous. Worse, I still didn't understand anything! But . . . this was appalling! I felt thoroughly bewildered and all I seemed able to say was, "Sorry! Big-Biggest sorry, Dammod!"

"Why are you sorry, sweetling?"

Help. Oh, help. I just started babbling. "W-Was so naughty! And I did that naughty th-thing in Ithleeeeninin, and I w-was mean to you and hur-hurt you! And-and ohhhh!" I pressed my face into the bedding, the tear-soaked coverlet cool against my burning cheeks. "I-I hurt you, Dammod, and big-biggest sorrryyy!"

"Shhhh, nay, not at all. You did not hurt me."

Dazed, I lifted my head. "B-But . . . I-I did! D-Din't I? I-I did hurt you. Must've hurt y-you. You didn't sp-spank me again after that b-bad day."

"Hear me, Faramir. I was not hurt."

It was true – I knew nothing at all! I felt too lost to do anything but lay there shaking across my lieutenant's safe lap, and when I turned and looked back over my shoulder at him, Damrod gave me a steady gaze of such gentle patience that I collapsed into quiet, desperate weeping. "I-I dunno an-anything! Oh, Dammod, please h-help meeee!"

"Ahhh," he rumbled with a soft grin. "Indeed, my little bairn."

And Damrod gathered me back up into his arms as swiftly as he had before, a bit dizzying, and this time I hissed when my bottom slid down between his spread legs, but before I could open my mouth he said, "Nay, no fussing. We have yet to finish. I shall turn you over my knee again in a moment. But first you shall sit quietly and listen, and after we have settled this and all is sorted out, then we shall deal with the consequences of your actions. Is this understood?"

Oh dreadful, good news! I nodded, shivering with relief. Damrod knew how to sort out the chaos in my mind. I'd be quiet and I'd listen.

"Good boy," he said, drawing me close. "Very good. Now, 'tis true, I have not spanked you since that day, but consider that, from the time you awakened in the Houses of Healing you have been well attended to by three loving big brothers. Ere the final march those three big brothers kept you quite sore-bottomed, as I am sure you recall. I was last in line of those who were eager to spank you. And it was well that I was last. I shall explain."

He wrapped his arms around me and began stroking my hair as he had when I was a boy and he would tell me a story. Despite my backside being on fire, I relaxed against him, hearing his voice rumble in his chest 'neath my ear.

"This should be a happy time for you, sweetling. All have returned home safely from the Last Battle; you have been released from the Houses of Healing; your beloved brother is here, alive and well and you should be feeling contented. I know that indeed you are, but you have also been struggling of late with a strange _dis_contentment you cannot fathom. And today when an opportunity presented itself for you to engage in some naughty behavior, you did just that."

I rubbed my face against his shirt, saying on a soft moan, "Dammod, I'm sorrrrr – "

"Hush. No sorries until I give you permission, else we shall be here into the night and your brother yet awaits his turn over my knee."

Boromir! I hadn't really forgotten he was here, but I had, and now I lifted my head and turned and oh, look at him! He was leaning over, his elbows braced on his knees, fingers tightly interlaced, and watching me with a quiet, thoughtful expression and his cheeks wet with – !

"Oh, Bor'mir!" I cried, and I shocked myself by squirming in Damrod's grasp, wanting to get to my brother. "He-He's cry – "

"Shhh, enough of that, young sir," Damrod said in a firm tone, and he tilted me up enough to smack my bottom. I yelped. "Boromir is fine and more concerned for you, as well he should be. Turn back around and settle yourself." I obeyed at once, taking with me a gift from my brother, a wink.

"To resume," Damrod said. "I have ever taught you that things happen when they should happen, when 'tis best for them to happen."

I nodded, my thoughts racing forward. "Yes! Y-Yes! So th-this was the perfect t-time for you and me to – OWWW! Sorry! OWW!" I pressed my lips together tightly and buried my face against him again.

"To. Re. Sume." Damrod purposefully cleared his throat. "Aye, my clever lad, this is indeed that special time when we can face the difficulty between us. But you needed time to arrive at this place, Faramir. You could not have heard me speak to you of this ere now. You would have heard nothing I had to say. You had to crave this healing, to reach for me by your own choice. Things had to get very bad inside you, so bad that you were eager to mend the rift and willing to undergo what you are right now, to reopen that painful wound and heal it properly.

"Sweetling, I alone would ne'er be able to push you to the point where I could help you, nor would I have wished to try, not only because your stubbornness is the stuff of legends, but because of what had happened in Ithilien. When you withdrew from me that day I realized that this issue of horrific loss was unique and far too delicate for the simplicity of force.

"And so I had to release you, but I did so knowing a time such as this one would come quite soon for us. You and I would not suffer such a distance between us for very long. You have been anxious inside since it happened, and it built and built, getting its biggest after all your big brothers had spanked you and there was just this one dark sadness left looming within you.

"But you have ever had your place within where you could hide your hurts, and you were wise to build such a place. It was there that you had hidden this sad hurt between us, and 'tis there it needed to remain until now when you were prepared to take it out that we might mend it together."

I had been staring at him, fascinated, listening to his perfectly simple and sound explanation for what had seemed a chaotic mess in my mind. There it was. Damrod was right about all of it. And I couldn't have heard him tell me all this before. I would have pushed him away and dismissed anything he tried to say. I wasn't ready to hear any of it. Until now.

"And that's why I g-got mad when you came in, right, Dammod?"

"Aye," he said with a soft grin. "Despite your confusion on the outside, deep inside you knew that it was time to return to Ithilien, to that sad place where you felt you had wronged me and this strife between us began. And so you flew into a rage, even though you did not understand what you were doing. You knew I was about to put you over my knee for the first time since that day, and so you wisely did what your heart told you to do.

"But, going back to what you said before, as you can see, you never hurt me, sweetling. What sorrow you might have seen in me was sorrow for your sake alone and the choice you had made to suffer. But I understood what you were suffering. I knew what you did and why you had to do it, and it saddened me, but you did not hurt me. So there is nothing for me to forgive, my little bairn, for you were not in your right mind."

Again I stared at him, a slow, strange panic building within me . . . no sorries? Damrod studied me, his wise, gentle gaze quietly expectant, and then that sudden and masterfully clever smile returned. "But there is more to this, is there not, sweetling?" he said. "Perhaps you have something to tell me? Aye, you were not in your right mind, but – "

"But I still d-did it." And suddenly I shot Boromir another quick glance and we shared the same understanding. "Oh, Bor'mir! Like when you spanked m-me!" He winked at me again, and I spun back to Damrod. "When Bor'mir spanked me I-I was feeling so bad about wh-when I spanked F-Frodo and Sam – twice I s-spanked them. You remember Dammod – "

"Mmm. Of course I do. You sent me to Minas Tirith just before you captured Sam and Frodo, but of course I know what happened. Go on, little one. You are doing so well."

I was. And his praise gave me a shameless tingle, and I felt so close to a final answer, a final solution to this madness and sorrow that I surged on: "I-I was in that terrible sadness, and I d-did that awful, mean sp-spanking – poor, sw-sweet lil' halfling bottoms! But I still need to say s-s-s-sorry for the m-mean spanking."

"And why is that?" Damrod said softly. "Why should you be held responsible for your actions when you were so wild with grief?"

"Be-Becau-cau – " And I wanted to tell him! I knew the answer! But I was so overcome, so breathless with tears that I couldn't force the words out of me. Instead I burst into fresh low sobs of frustration, gulping and shaking, growing ever more furious with myself, and Damrod 'shhhhh-ed' me again and kissed my head again and ever so gently he turned me over his knee, and he just held me there, rubbing my sore, sore backside, rubbing my back whilst I wept and quivered and finally began to calm.

"Shhhhh," he murmured. "I know you are trying, sweetling, and I know you understand, so I shall help you. You are right. Sorries do need to be said, just as they did when Boromir dealt with you ere the final march. So we shall make certain you say each sorry in turn, as you did then. Because, even though grief shaped your behavior that day in Ithilien, you nevertheless did what you did. The deeds remain unanswered for, and, as you are an honorable lad, Faramir, you feel guilty, so, regardless of the circumstances, unless you are held accountable for your actions, the guilt remains. And guilt can make little boys behave in very naughty ways in the hopes that someone will pay them the attention they deserve and make that hurtful guilt go away. Do you agree?"

Though I'd already been melting through the bed my lieutenant's perfect explanation of all that was in my heart thoroughly liquefied me into a puddle on the floor. He followed it with a swat that made me scream into the wet patch under my face and nod rapidly.

"Well? Is that what you were trying to say, little one?"

"Yes, Dam-mod!"

"And when you have been naughty, does it matter what made you act that way? Should we just forget the naughtiness happened?"

"Noooooooo. D-Doesn't matter what m-made me do it!" I sputtered. I tensed. Oh, Faramir, thou orc-wit.

"Then some very big sorries need to be said. So let us look into that now." And Damrod suddenly grabbed my breeches, which had inched up my thighs, and yanked them down again, this time way down past my knees, and I responded to his first whack with a heartfelt:

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWW! AHHHHH! AHH! SORRRRYYYYY!"

"Oh? Sorry already? What for?"

"I-I-I ju-just AMMMMMMM!"

And if I didn't know better I'd have sworn I heard Boromir bark a sharp laugh. Of course, I know my beloved big brother wouldn't do that. And if he had I intended to laugh when he was being spanked, too.

"You shall needs do better than that," Damrod said. "What are you saying sorry for?"

I reached down and grabbed his leg again to keep from covering my blazing bottom with my hand. "S-Sorry for-for-for-I-I-I – "

"Come, sir. You have several deeds of misconduct from which to choose."

And I certainly hoped he planned on sharing what they were with my befuddled self as my mind had once again slipped into an uncooperative state. Of course Damrod would share. He was ever courteous.

"I-I-I – "

"Let us begin at the beginning," Damrod said, his voice full of patience, his big palm never missing a beat. "Let us first purge that very important matter between us. Perhaps you are trying to say that you are sorry for ignoring the big true thing."

"Yes! I – I am! But, but, wait – you said you weren't hu-hurt – "

"Nor was I hurt by your actions, little bairn. I was, however, grieved when you chose to behave in a way that would later cause you regrets. So, should you have chosen to ignore the big true thing?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"I thought not. Is it ever acceptable to ignore the big true thing?"

"NOOOOO! Nev-Never 'gnore big truthing!"

Ohhhhhhh, the way I sounded! Alas, I was crumbling into the little bairn he'd named me! I certainly couldn't control all the bairn-like nonsense spilling out of my mouth. And suddenly Gwinthorian's silly word of distress flashed in my mind.

"_Ew."_

_"Ew?"_ The first time I heard Halbarad's pretty elf utter that sound I'd studied him and asked, "_What did you say?"_

_"Ew!"_ Gwin repeated emphatically.

"_Ew."_ I felt foolish just saying it. "_That's a word?"_

Devon, who was walking between us, grinned at me. "_Wellll . . . ."_

_"Is it some kind of High Elvish?"_ I went on. "_Quenya perhaps? I'm not as versant in Quenya as I am in Sindarin."_

Gwin erupted into adorable giggles. "_Quenya! Nooooooo, Faramirrrr!"_

I frowned and said, "_Well, what kind of a word is it then?"_

Devon chuckled. "_A fitting one. I've had occasion to use it myself. Sometimes nothing but 'ew' will work."_

_"You have my permission to borrow it any time you like,"_ Gwin had declared, with a magnanimous air and a sweet smile.

"_Ew, indeed."_ I'd snorted. "_Many thanks, however I doubt I shall ever make use of it, my friend."_

Dev exchanged a sideways grin with Gwinthorian and said, "_Don't speak too soon."_

With slow, careful purpose I said to my lieutenant, "I sh-should never, ever ignore the big true thing." Good, Faramir! Excellent! Then I followed it with, "W-Was naughty, Dam-mod! B-Biggest naughty!"

Ew.

"Aye, it was. And Faramir, in future when you are behaving like such a defiant, insolent whelp that I must remind you of the big true thing, are you permitted to turn to me and say in your defiant, insolent tone, '_That no longer applies'?"_

_That no longer appl . . .?_ Merciful stars! I had said that! Oh, Faramir, thou double orc-wit!

"Well?"

"AHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOO! Shouldn't never say th-that! Shouldn't never, ever!"

"Then what do you have to say to me, sweetl – "

"SORRRYYYYY, Dammod! So s-sorrrry I 'gnored the b-big truthing!"

"I should hope so. Such behavior is hurtful to my bairn. So permit me to provide you with a small reminder of what you can look forward to should you ever again be tempted to flout the big truthing."

And he followed this by lifting his knee and delivering another flurry of smacks to that tender underbottom place. I wailed and burst into a wild frenzy of kicking and bucking and suddenly Damrod halted.

"Do you enjoy having the freedom to kick, sir?"

Stunned, gulping great breaths, I nodded jerkily.

"Then lie still whilst I am spanking this special place, else I shall again lock your legs down between mine and put an end to any further kicking. Do you understand me?"

Oh, to ask such a thing of me! But how like Damrod, making this my duty and my choice – '_behave or I shall hold you down again.'_ Perfectly awful, forcing myself to just lie still! I groaned, but I felt myself nodding, and Damrod picked right up where he'd left off. I didn't kick or buck. I held still. I did. But I let my dissatisfaction with this situation be known:

"OWWWWWWWW! OW! OWWW! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Good boy. Very gooood," my beast of a lieutenant said, and he lowered his knee again, returning his swats to my scorched bottom. "So do we understand each other about the big truthing then, my little bairn?"

"UH HUHHHHHHH!"

"I am glad we agree. And of course you are forgiven, little one. So no more sad feelings about that, understand? All gone. That bad day in Ithilien is over now. All over."

I nodded, crying, relief thrumming through me in one big, warm surge. Such simple yet eloquent words, saying so much. "Th-Thank youuu, Dammod." And I began to rise –

End chapter 11


	12. Chapter 12

**Foster Father of the Heart – chapter 12**  
by Larrkin

"Naaaaaaay, sweetling," Damrod said in a soft, reasonable voice. "Stay where you are. I shall gather you up when we are finished. We have but a few more sorries to address. I am certain you simply forgot. But I wouldst ne'er neglect my bairn in such a manner."

No, he wouldn't, wicked, thorough, blessed lieutenant of mine. What had I been thinking? I buried my face, weeping anew. Poor Boromir. Unless Damrod shifted to the other side of the bed my brother was going to be face down in this soggy puddle of my tears. But Damrod was still swatting away, incredibly; he had ever been a tireless marvel. And he was speaking again in a quiet tone meant to make me quiet my wails enough to hear him. I had once made the mistake of telling him that if he wanted me to quiet my wails enough to hear him then perhaps he should stop spanking such loud wails out of me. What idiot becomes impertinent when stretched out over the knees of a first lieutenant with a tireless spanking arm?

"Well?"

"AHHHHHHHHH! Wh-Whaat?" I wailed at his two more powerful swats. Vile, evil man!

"I do not intend to shout, sweetling. Listen to me. As you have these few last sorries to make, and as I know you are tiring I shall help you along."

Splendid, glorious man! "Ohhhhhhh! Th-Thank you, sir!"

"You are most welcome, my little bairn. The next sorry you have to say concerns a broken rule. I know how you were suffering when you thought your brother was gone, sweetling, but to help yourself cope you decided upon a course of action that I had forbidden you from the time you first tried it as a wee lad – you decided to punish yourself."

Oh, noooo. Not this one again. I went very still. Big Ew. This was always a bad one. Why, oh, why could I never seem to learn this lesson? Once an orc-wit, ever an or-

"You wanted to suffer, so you took senseless risks and sought out danger and you behaved badly in order to then punish yourself with guilt. You even denied yourself the comfort I tried to give you. Of course you refused to permit a spanking to touch you. It would have soothed your anguish."

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" Well, again, there it was. Nothing escaped Damrod.

"Did you punish yourself, little one?"

"Uhhh – " I swallowed hard. Honesty was a ghastly thing. "Uh-huhhhhhhhhhh."

"And are little boys allowed to see to their own discipline?"

"N-N-Noooooooooooo, D-Dammod. Not 'lowed, not-not – "

"Aye, naughty indeed. You are unable to see matters clearly, so you punish yourself too severely."

And I heard Boromir's near exact same words echo back to me from that intense and far-too recent spanking: "_But, Faramir, it is not your place to discipline yourself. When you have been disobedient, you cannot judge your actions fairly, and you are never permitted to punish yourself for them."_ Aragorn, or was it Legolas . . . perhaps both of them had said the same thing to my brother. Often, or so he said. So Boromir could teach the lesson to me with such unfailing accuracy. Not that he had mastered it yet himself.

"And what do little boys say when they have been naughty and decided to discipline themselves?"

"Sorrryyyyyyyy! Sorry for dis'pling m'self, Dammod!"

And, oh, no – up went his knee again, and . . . .

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Damrod was spanking that tender under-bottom place entirely too much today! Maybe Halbarad was sharing some of the Grey Company's innovative spanking techniques with my lieutenant. I didn't approve of this. Such sharing seemed utterly unfair. Damrod certainly needed no such innovative ideas to make his point. A mad, quick vision flashed before me, Halbarad and Damrod, smoking pipes around a fire . . . .

"_Try it next time,"_ Halbarad said.

"_Mmmm."_ Damrod nodded judiciously. "_I do avail myself of that tender spot, of course. It makes a point."_

"_Aye, but prolonged and repeated attention there works wonders when  
Gwinthorian is in need of particular focusing."_

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Faramir. I trust your mind is not wandering."

I answered by wailing and kicking so violently he would have a hard time reaching that place. And once more Damrod halted and said in that deadly patient tone, "Faramir."

He didn't have to say anything more. I froze. But, ohhhhh, just try laying still whilst he spanked that place! I certainly hoped he made Boromir do this. I was tempted to beg Damrod to go ahead and lock my legs down between his. Force me! Hold me still! Oh, yes! That would have made this much easier!

But, of course, he knew that, blast his Dúnedain cleverness, and he knew me. Damrod could safely offer me that choice because he knew I would never take it. He'd even said why a few minutes ago – "_your stubbornness is the stuff of legends."_ So, again I had to actually make myself behave and lie still because my wretched, horriblest lieutenant knew how to employ my superior tenacity!

Very well. At his first swat I punished him by loosing a bellow that was likely heard by Legolas deep in the forests of Ithilien.

"_Aragorn, did you hear that?"_

_"Hear what?"_

_"That frightful wail. I vow 'tis the sound of some poor innocent being dreadfully spanked."_

_"Oh. That. Fret not. 'Tis most likely Damrod finally seeing to that bratling captain of his. Does it sound like my little Ranger?"_

_"Ahh. Indeed it does. And Damrod seems to be doing well by our baby brother."_

_"Perhaps Halbarad has been sharing a few innovative spanking techniques with his counterpart."_

_"Alas, our poor gwador laes."_

"Faramir?"

"OWWWWWWWWAHHHHHH!"

"Can it be possible your mind just wandered elsewhere?" Damrod asked, just a touch impatient.

"NOOOOO! N-NOOOOOO! Here, sir! R-Right here!"

"I am glad to hear it," he said, blessedly lowering his leg again, or not so blessedly, according to my searing backside. "I cannot overemphasize the folly of wandering off in your mind right now."

"Y-Yessirrr, I-I mean, no-no sir. I would-wouldn't wander 'way, sirrr!" What idiot wanders off in their mind when a tireless lieutenant is trying to set their under-bottom afire?

"Nay, no wandering off, especially when we are so near to finishing. That is, if my bairn is ready to give his big brother a turn?"

I coughed and sputtered and Damrod said, "I believe what you are trying to say, little boy, is '_Aye, sir, I am more than happy to allow my big brother his chance to extend his regrets for the episode in Osgiliath's sewers today.'_ Is that what I hear you saying, little one?"

I nodded swiftly, thinking that those who considered me to be of some intellect needed only to meet my gentlemanly lieutenant to understand who had strongly influenced me. I spared him my version of his statement as it was well soaked with profanities both Westron and Sindarin.

"So do we fully understand each other as regards little boys disciplining themselves?"

"Y-Yesss, Dammod. So-So sorrryyyyy!"

"Good boy." He paused and rubbed my scalded backside, his softly purred 'goooood boy' melting along my limbs, sending shivers through me. He murmured more enchanted incantations, "I know you are sorry, little one, and I understand why you did what you did, and so we have finished with yet another matter, and you are forgiven, my bairn. All gone."

"Oh Dammmmod," I wept into the soaked bedding and squeezed the coverlet . . . no words.

"Shhh, sweetling, I know. And now, at last, we have worked our way around to today's activities."

And he began comfort spanking me again. I knew from a lifetime of experiences over Damrod's knee that he was ever aware of my tolerance level, but I fervently hoped this discussion was going to be brief. I was impressed with my stamina, as I'd been impressed with myself when Boromir had spanked me, although back then I'd been even less healed and in a more fragile state, still stuck in the Houses of Healing, and . . . and I suddenly hoped Damrod didn't know how long that spanking had been! If so he could have determined that since I had endured that much spanking from my brother, I could likely endure the same amount of spanking now. Dreadful notion!

"Let me say at the outset that, although I know you would never blame Boromir for ordering you into that naughtiness today, any attempts on your part to claim innocence in this matter will be met with the very strongest show of disapproval."

WHAT? I reared up in horror. "Dammod! I-I would never doooo tha – "

"I know. No more than he will blame you, even though, of the two of you, he would be more justified in claiming duress."

WHAT? Well . . . I suppose that was true. But –

"This is what I feel happened this morning after you requested I supervise matters at the wharf: Boromir decided upon the plan to investigate the sewers for there quite truly should have been no danger involved. Had it been you planning an adventure you would have chosen something that promised at least some danger. Why Boromir decided upon this plan, however, is the heart of the matter."

I tensed. Do. Not. Tense. Even during a comfort spanking.

"You made no secret of the fact that you were unhappy about being forbidden to join Aragorn and his Rangers today. After watching the company leave Minas Tirith at dawn you planned to wait a while, then attempt a wild ride after them, despite all orders forbidding such rigorous riding and despite the dangers of riding alone through an unsettled area. Therefore, Boromir, knowing his little brother all too well, thwarted your plan by accompanying you to Osgiliath today, and then staying rather than returning to Minas Tirith. And finally, seeing your unhappiness, your brother devised his adventure as a means of appeasing your pouty self. Do I paint a fair picture, my bairn?"

Oh, a flawless one, in the fairest of hues. So typical of Damrod. I nodded. "Y-Yes, sir." And an awful feeling came racing up, ready to attack me. I buried my face and murmured on a long whimper, "Daaammmmod – "

"Shh, sweetling," he said. "Hush. I know. But we must speak of it. For your big brother will nobly claim all responsibility for the plan, and indeed that may be as it was. However, I vow you inspired him by being a most difficult little boy, especially when there was yet time for you to ride after and catch Aragorn. So you tried to push Boromir into doing what you wanted. In plain terms, you tried to play upon your brother's sympathies, did you not?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears leaking, flashes of this morning coming fast: Boromir's concerned glances, his watchful manner and his worry. . . . Oh, yes, I'd tried to exploit that. Damrod needn't have been there to know what I'd done. And my lieutenant wasn't trying to shame me. He knew I'd do a fine job of that myself. He was merely speaking the truth. The fact that it was bitter and that I didn't like it changed nothing, nor did it make Damrod cruel for being forthright. He was merciful, for Boromir would never have blamed me for coercing him and I was so ashamed of what I'd done that I'd tucked it away to where I wouldn't have to admit to it, burying it under all the other big topics of the day.

But Damrod knew of it, and that was one example of how brilliant he was, and one reason why Boromir and I loved him so – he knew us. And as mortified as I was to confess to having pouted Boromir into action today, I knew I could safely do so. Damrod had never judged me nor condemned me, nor would he do so now. Despite our greatest flaws and silliest follies and worst mistakes, Damrod loved Boromir and me unconditionally. He knew, however, that unless he made me see what I'd done and made me answer for it, I would continue to condemn myself.

I let loose a bursting sob, feeling each spank, wanting each spank and –

"HALT!"

I jerked at his sudden bark. He'd stopped spanking me! What?

"No, sir! Not one word!"

But, I hadn't so much as opened my mouth, except to cry into the bedding. Soooo, if not me – ah! I twisted to see Boromir, half-risen from his seat, his mouth open, ready to speak, staring at me, a look of anguish on his face.

"Sit down at once, my lad, else I shall send you from the room," Damrod was saying, his First Lieutenant Voice back. "You have been a good boy thus far, Boromir. I know you are anxious and I know these matters are difficult to hear. But they are, as you well know, the truth, and unless you wish to find yourself waiting outside in the corridor you will sit down and behave yourself. Your choice, sir."

Looking quietly astonished, as though wondering what the Valar he thought he was doing, Boromir dropped back into his chair and white knuckle gripped the arms.

"You know your brother, Boromir. We can leave no stone unturned with this little one, can we? For the ugliness beneath will grow and fester and feed upon him, is that not so?"

Boromir nodded, his gaze lowered.

"And you know that I am being no more harsh with this sweet boy than you were but a few weeks ago; correct?"

Another nod.

And now, patting my throbbing bottom, Damrod said, "Faramir, whilst your head is turned, I believe you wish to say one of your sorries to your big brother who loves you. His one wish today was to appease you and keep you safe. Had you been of a milder temperament, 'tis unlikely Boromir would have suggested what he did. Do you agree?"

I closed my eyes and let loose another sob. "Yeeesss." Then I heard a softly ventured –

"Damrod, please – "

My eyes popped open and I saw my big brother prepared to be very foolish indeed for my sake. "Nooooo! Boromir!" I cried. "You know Dammod's r-right. I was grumpy and grouchy and m-mad bec-cause you were watching me, and you wouldn't let me g-go after Ar'gorn. Sorry, Boromir, s-sorrry! So sorry b-big brother!"

And as awful as all that had felt only seconds before, saying sorry for it lifted it, vanquishing it, and I could take a deep breath again, for the weight of that ugly thing was gone. I gave Boromir a watery smile. I'd have winked at him had my eyes been less sore and swollen with tears.

Boromir glanced above me at Damrod, then clearly receiving a nod of approval, my brother shot from his chair, and then he was stroking my hair back from my face and landing a kiss on my brow along with a whispered, "Shh, 'tis all right, sweetling. So proud of you little brother." And when I stopped weeping from that and opened my eyes again, Boromir was seated and wiping his cheeks with the heels of his hands and looking like he could do with a good strong ale. Several, perhaps. I was ready to join him.

"Only one more sorry to say, sweetling," Damrod said.

Only one more. Was't possible? I could scarce believe it. My legs ached from kicking, my face was damp with tears, my eyes burned and my poor bottom was scalded, each comfort swat now feeling more like one of Damrod's biggest spanks. But, my lieutenant was indeed leaving no stone unturned. One more sorry . . . .

"Do you know what that sorry is, Faramir?"

Well, I was fairly certain, since I hadn't yet said sorry for – "Sorry for disobeying orders and going into th-the sewers?"

"Aye, sweetling, because you inspired Boromir to action today, you are as equally responsible for what happened as if you had planned it yourself. Your adventure came about because you were seeking a special kind of attention from me, seeking to provoke it however possible, even if it turned out to be merely for disobeying orders. Did you get the attention you wanted, little boy, the attention you deserved?"

"AHHHHHH!" A devious sneak-attack hard spank! Odious man! I winced and I nodded, "Uh huhhhhh!"

"Did you need to reconcile yourself to me, Faramir? Was there anything for me to forgive?"

"N-Noooooooo!"

"Nevertheless you did a naughty thing, a dangerous thing, sweetling. You disobeyed a standing order and risked your life simply because you were feeling vindictive and cross and in need of some attention. So what do little boys say when they've been naughty and disobeyed orders and ended up in dangerous life-threatening situations?"

Uh-oh. I heard it – that barely subdued smoldering tone in Damrod's voice when he said those words – '_dangerous life-threatening situations.'_

Uhhh-ohhhh. Of all the naughty things I'd had to apologize for, Damrod had saved one of the worst for last. Yes, the others were big, especially the sad hurtful thing we had needed to heal and the big truthing. And that had led me here. But this 'sorry' was for the actual –

"Faramir."

Ew. My bottom was soooo sore. I trembled and I tensed yet again. Valar help me, I did.

"Come, sweetling. Let us finish this and put it all behind us. One more big sorry. Come, my brave little bairn. What have you to say to me?"

"S-SOORRRRRY! S-Sorrrrry for dis-disobey-ing and for th-the sewers and f-for the st-stupid, stupid or-orcs! But-But they shouldn't have been in th-there, Dammod!"

"Should you and Boromir have been there?"

"Uhhhhh . . . ."

"Faramir."

"N-Nooooooooooo!"

"I thought not."

"!"

"I know you are, little one. So let us purge it all now."

I don't remember him tipping his leg up again but when his first whack fell on my now seriously stinging under-bottom I buried my face in the bedding and wailed my lungs out into that deep and muffled depth, lest my bellows bring Aragorn and his Rangers riding back from Ithilien, expecting to find Minas Tirith under attack. OW!OW!OW! Ohhh, the burrrrrrrn! And of course it was just as bad when he moved back up to my bottom and started his final assault. My legs were locked straight out and stiff and I rocked my hips from side to side, desperately and quite uselessly trying to avoid the next smack.

I knew Damrod would never harm me, but he had no qualms about spanking me right up to the edge of my endurance, and when my behavior involved something needlessly life-risking, ohhhh, those spankings were the absolute worst. I'd seen Damrod's face after the battle today. He had ever maintained a special look reserved for my life-risking times, an expression of utter wrath mixed with deep, hushed horror. It hit one squarely in the stomach.

"_I know what you mean by that special look of his, little brother,"_ Boromir had once said. "_It feels like a wrenching gut-punch, but it's nothing like one of Denethor's disdainful looks. It's more . . . ."_

_"Damrod's deeply stricken,"_ I said. "_But he's stricken for our sake, not his own."_ And Boromir had nodded.

Damrod looked that way after the incident of the decaying footbridge over the ravine, the major event that had triggered our breach, and I could hear that expression in his voice now, feel it through the sincerity of his spanking.

When Damrod stopped spanking me I couldn't say, but at some point I reached complete collapse and sagged over his lap, and then . . . sometime, I noticed with a faint shimmer of surprise that he was now rubbing my bottom very lightly, and the burden I had carried with me since our awful day in Ithilien was gone. Just gone. I was free of it, and I could take a deep breath and not feel it lingering in some heavy place within me, and that release drenched me in an explosion of pure feeling. I heard the shift in my weeping. I was no longer wailing the eternal, 'ow, ow, ow, my poor bottom!' wail. This was a softer weeping, a whole-hearted relinquishing, and my backside hurt so badly, but I felt too wonderful to do anything but weep.

"Shhh, all right now, little bairn. All over now. All gone. All is put right again. Rest now. I am proud of you."

And then, even then, Damrod knew just what I needed. In the aftermath of the most wrenching journeys over his lap, when the worst spankings were over and the hardest lessons learned, he left me there, stretched over his warm, solid legs, my throbbing bottom pulsating as he gently rubbed the burning skin. He stroked my tangled hair and rubbed my back and I lay still, shuddering and quietly weeping, wrung out, my arm still curled down around his leg.

"Shhhh, goood my sweet bairn. Breathe easy. You were so brave and clever and you said all your sorries, so now you deserve to lie over my lap, quiet and safe. Shhhhh. Rest now, little one. All is well. I am proud of you. No more hurt. It is over. All over now. And we have left it behind us. Do you understand?"

"Uhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh."

I grinned at his sluggish response. Trust Faramir to make something like 'uh-huh' sound sluggish. But he was utterly drained, lying spent and boneless over my lap. My little bairn had, however, lasted through to the final conclusion, and I could not have been more proud of him. Of course he deserved his extended time of solace stretched out over my knee, his 'hardest-spanking' lap time, as he had dubbed it:

"_Lemme stayyyyy!"_ he had once wailed as a youngster. "_That was such a-a hardest spank-spanking! Wanna stay here, on y-your safe lap, p-pleeease Dammod?"_

Well, how was I to resist that? Faramir's comfort was my only concern, and I cannot say I was opposed to seeing him stretched out there, melted and trusting, his blazing red bottom hot under my rubbing hand. Since Faramir's 'hardest spankings' usually followed some reckless, life-endangering deed of his that had frightened me badly, I felt comforted as well seeing him resting exactly where he was, safe over my lap. We both needed that period of absolute comfort. And I had no aversion to his big brother witnessing it now. In fact, had Boromir been able to fit I would have gathered my young Steward onto my lap beside his little brother. Faramir would certainly have welcomed him.

But ere I dealt with Boromir – and I was anticipating that with great relish – I had one liquefied bairn to settle, so I allowed him a nice long time to soak up my pets and my murmurs, and when we were both ready, I gathered him up in my arms and held him. Faramir was as he ever was after a difficult spanking. He curled into me, wrapping himself against me with the same ingenuous naivete he'd shown at the age of five. No modesty needed here, not between us. At this moment, my bairn was not far off from that five-year-old. How I loved him like this! Unashamedly loved him like this. There was yet so much little boy in Faramir, and there likely ever would be, just as there ever would be in Boromir.

For it was as if they had, in part, stopped developing certain qualities at a certain age. Denethor had ripped away that part of their tender youths wherein they should have learned what it was to feel safe to be who they were, safe to be wrong at times and loved nonetheless. Having learned to be ever on guard, they were deprived of a level of trust to which all little ones are entitled. It left within them a hole, and they became seeking, hungry little boys, looking for an elusive something they could not define.

I had done all I could for them over the years. But Denethor's power over them was profound and his power within the workings of Minas Tirith after Ecthelion died was absolute. Keenly aware of my closeness with his sons, he manipulated matters to keep us apart until at last I was not even allowed access to my boys, so I was of little use to them until long after the damage was done.

Now, however, thank the Valar, now they were mine again, and in part, they would ever be those seeking, hungry little boys. I was as eager to give to them now as I had been when they were younger . . . as long as Aragorn and Legolas were willing to share.

I smiled at the thought, resting my cheek on Faramir's wild curls, recalling a talk I'd had with Aragorn and Legolas not long ago whilst my boys were in the Houses of Healing. Aragorn had turned to me one day and solemnly said:

"_Damrod, Legolas and I have been talking, and we think that 'twould be advisable for the three of us to set up a rotating schedule."_

I gave him a blank stare.

"_Aye,"_ Legolas, equally earnest, had chimed in. "_We shall need some way to portion out the spanking duties as regards these brothers, for there are only two of them and three of us – "_

_" – all of us ready and eager to lend a disciplinary hand when needed,"_ Aragorn added.

"_And 'twill most certainly be needed, knowing those two,"_ Legolas said, nodding soberly.

"_Most certainly. Do you not agree, lieutenant?"_

I had been chucking too hard to respond, for although they pretended their seriousness well, they could not hide the mirth glittering in their eyes. It was also an eerie moment, though. I had heard of Aragorn's Dúnedain prowess and, several times, like this one, I had been shocked to feel it turned upon me, Legolas ever lending his Ranger support. But bless them both, for with their typical good humor and artful tact they had dismissed a concern that had troubled me.

Aragorn had then cast me his quiet, knowing smile and said, "_No worries, Damrod. We shall share with you and you with us, and between the three of us our two brothers shall never again suffer from neglect."_

_"Ai! Poor lads!"_ Legolas had laughed.

"D-Dammod?"

I flinched at Faramir's sniffly voice. It sounded raw from crying again, typical of him.

"Aye, my bairn?"

"Are-Are you really gonna sp-spank Bor'mir now, t-tooo?"

I glanced over at Boromir. His head was lowered and he was all but squeezing the arms off the chair, his knuckles so bone-white that I frowned.

"Do you think I should forgo his spanking, sweetling?" I asked, preparing myself for an erupting Faramir.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO! AHHHHHHHHHH! OWWWWWWWWW!"

I sometimes wondered how I kept a straight face given this little one's antics. Faramir had pulled back to glare and yell at me, forgotten that I was holding his flaming bottom up and free from any contact and, in his passion, he'd bounced down onto my thighs. He was still arching and yelping.

"That will teach you to lose your bratling temper with me," I said, grinning despite myself. I snatched him up again, wrapping my arms round his back and under his thighs and lifting his wriggling self just free of my lap. "Faramir. Stop squirming. There. That's better. Now settle down. Of course I plan to spank Boromir, little one. Would I neglect your beloved big brother in such a cruel manner?"

Once more safely elevated, Faramir muttered, "Nooooooo, Dammod, you sure wouldn't do such a mean, mean thing. No, noo, I just hope – I-I hoped, well, I was 'fraid I m-might have used up your spank-spanking arm."

Did I not know that Faramir was in deadly little boy earnest I would have suspected him of trying to lighten the dread Boromir was surely feeling. "Nay, sweetling," I said with a soft laugh. "Have no fears. My spanking arm is yet fully functional."

End Chapter 12  
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued


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